


Save The King

by APurpleAvacado



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: AU, M/M, OC bad, Potential for rude words, Violence/abuse, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-20
Updated: 2014-05-04
Packaged: 2017-12-24 02:55:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 25,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/934456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/APurpleAvacado/pseuds/APurpleAvacado
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Foot-soldier Kozmotis Pitchiner returns from a fourteen year long war as the General of the King's army, and a Father. With twelve year old Seraphina in tow, Kozmotis thinks he will be able to raise her in a proper environment for a child at last, but that all changes when he meets a certain someone Kozmotis thinks is more trouble than he's worth.</p><p>Of course, with the Kingdom's troubled History, the fact that trouble may have found Kozmotis regardless of whether or not he met this someone is completely irrelevant. Right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Welcome.

Save The King;

Chapter one:

The opulence of the palace was unmatched. It was reputably one of the most ostentatious in all the Kingdoms, befitting of a King with a taste for fine things and a big personality. The castle was large, made of white stone and marble, tall, strong columns threaded with gold and a red carpet that spanned the length of the floor and up the steps that elevated the throne, upon which the King sat, a beautiful creature sat at his feet, scantly clad. Large windows bathed the throne room with light, although the curtains on either side of the throne shaded the king from the worst of it. The King was at his worst during the summer, when the sun was brightest and hotter than ever, and the days longer.

That however, was not on the minds of anyone present in the throne room that evening. Music played, entertaining the nobles as they chatted amongst themselves. The King had gathered them there to welcome home a soldier – an army, and no doubt to announce the end of a victorious war. The castle would be open for celebrations for three days, and the King would take no petitions from the peasants during that time, and had dismissed the rest hours earlier. The evening would be filled with feasting and merriment and there would no doubt be revelry in the streets for the common soldiers and mayhem for the City Guard.

There were a great many nobles present, Dukes, Duchesses, Countesses and Earls. That said, not all were present, but that did not matter, but it had not gone unnoticed. This King took refusal to attend to Royal summons as a snub, and he did not take well to slight. Although there was music, it was to fill the silence, as it was not the time for dance. The King had received a letter from the approaching army, stating that they would arrive by two hours past noon at the earliest. They were not far away, but it was almost that time of day, and still, the soldiers had not made an appearance.

Slipping his hand beneath the back of the veil obscuring the face of the boy at his feet, the King tugged softly at the soft white hair beneath.

Panic blossomed inside the boy's heart in response to the touch. The volatile King was most definitely in one of his darker moods, annoyed by the heat, irritated by the fact that his 'honoured guests' had not yet shown themselves, testy because the wine he'd been served a few minutes prior had not been quite up to his expectations. The boy panicked because his reaction needed to be perfectly aligned with what the King wanted from him at that particular moment, or his irritation might very well be directed at him and that...that he did not want.

For a few seconds, he remained as still as a statue (as he had been this whole time, still enough that the myriad jewels--all of them the most perfect of diamonds--either glued to his skin or dangling from his scant clothing or cascading down the dip of his spine--did not stir the light).

He turned to the King, ever so slightly, enough to give the monarch a subtle nod of the head in acknowledgement. A 'yes, my lord,' a 'what can I do for you, sire?,' a pet's well-trained and silently fearful response.

For a moment, the King's gaze fell upon the window, the skies were beginning to darken with the onset of rain and judging the speed the clouds seemed to be moving, the sun would not be out in force for much longer. And, as if to confirm his suspicions, the sound of thunder clapped in the distance, and the King couldn't help the smile that followed – the rain would be the only thing that had pleased the King even slightly that day. Turning to his little pet, he retracted his hand, fingers instead trailing over the curve of a fine, pale shoulder. “I'm of a mind to give you more jewels.” He said and the thunder rumbled again and rain began to fall. “Would you like that?”

Mother Nature was out in force that day, it seemed.

"If it pleases your Majesty," the boy answered quickly, knowing the King did not like delays between his questions and the return of an answer to them.

This particular veil was inlaid with lace and jewels (and he had many), and it obscured his eyes and nose but left his lips open for view; puffy and perfect. A single diamond adorned each corner of his mouth. He'd been longingly watching the clouds through the windows, wishing for that freedom just beyond his fingertips but so far away, but with the King's attention on him so squarely he kept his eyes cast downward. Attentive, but reverent.

What did rain feel like against a person's skin? What did it smell like? How was the breeze of a storm? 

“It does please me, my little Winterwalker.” He said, seemingly ignoring his nobles as he spoke to his little creature, pale as snow and skin as cold as ice. Even amongst his own people, this boy was a rare beauty – the embodiment of ice and snow and to own such a creature - rarer still now that his people were all but gone, fed the King's shallow desires to possess what others do not – cannot.

Reaching down, the King trailed his thumb over those exposed lips – lips the colour of blood diluted in melting snow, a soft pink with a hint of something more dangerous beneath. “I will have you tonight.” He said with a note of finality, though he did not pull away from his toy. In fact, he opened his mouth to speak again when entrance to the thrown room was flung open, and the door slammed violently against the walls, rattling against their hinges.

An Armoured man , followed by a small procession of six armed guard, all of their faces obscured by their black armour. All the men knelt at the foot of the throne. The man at the front of the procession – whose armour was different, inlaid with gold filigree that lined the edges of his armour, like grape vines twisting around one another – withdrew his sword from his scabbard and knelt as well, his sword point downwards, his armoured head bent low, hiding golden eyes, his only distinguishable feature, from view. 

“Forgive my lateness, Your Highness.”

The soldiers' entry was a blessed distraction, causing Jack to sigh out the breath he had been holding. 

He had also turned to watch, along with everyone else in the great hallway, and his hidden gaze had naturally been drawn to the man who was the apparent leader of the small military group. He watched as he dropped down without hesitation (Jack knew what hesitation looked like), with conviction. That…that was a man of servitude. 

He'd die on the battlefield if it meant he could get out of the King's clutches. 

Funnily enough, Jack sometimes overheard concubines who actually liked this life; were thankful for it. Granted, there was no work and there was no dying from starvation or famine and there was no begging in the streets, but Jack, he'd considered this hell and always would. 

There was silence for a moment before the King straightened and released Jack as he turned his attention to the soldiers, laughing boisterously. “And so the Warrior Prodigy returns!” He shouted, throwing his arms up, grinning, making a point to ignore the way the General's head lowered ever so slightly at the 'title'. “Come,” He said “Stand up, up!” He said, chuckling still as Pitchiner obeyed, sheathing his sword in one fluid and practised motion, although he kept his head bowed.

“I am honoured to look upon you again, my King.” Pitchiner said at last. “The thought that I might begin to serve you closer to home is-”

“Yes, yes. You missed me, I understand.” The King said, waving the man silent “General Kozmotis Pitchiner...” He said, seeming to scrutinise the man before him silently for a moment. “I've heard a lot of stories about you.”

Jack's pale eyes were huge behind the obstruction of his veil. General Kozmotis Pitchiner. He could practically hear the swooning of women (and men in denial). Jack shifted, his motion accompanied by the icy tinkle of countless diamonds. "...Kozmotis..." He murmured to himself. "Cosmos?" 

Of course, his movements and his words did not go unnoticed, and in an instant, the King raised a hand and delivered a swift, hard slap to the back of his concubine's head. “General Pitchiner or Sir, to you.” He snapped. “And more to the point.” He said. “Silence.”

The General did not move an inch save to clench his jaw tightly, forcing himself release the tension there when the King turned his attention back upon him. “I heard you cut down one hundred men with...an impressive array of weapons..”

“I am well versed in various forms of combat.” The General responded stoically.

“Ah, yes.” Said the King with a grin. “Aren't you also in possession of the gift to manipulate Dream-sand?”

There was a pause, before Pitchiner gave a reluctant singular nod in affirmation.

The concubine braced himself against the floor as the force of the blow knocked him over, shaking his head as if to rid it of either the memory of the King's touch or the dull pain. When the King's attention returned to General Pitchiner, Jack's eyes fell genuinely murderous. 

He was the prize colt still unbroken. He was the one who still had spirit about him. 

When the King glanced back at him once more, he averted his gaze; when the monarch addressed another soldier, Jack's eyes fell on Kozmotis and did not falter. 

The lack of a hasty response did not please the King, but but he would not publicly embarrass or punish a widely-loved 'Hero'. Not upon his return home. So, instead, he smiled tightly, “how rude of me!” He said finally noticing the way the soldier's armour was dripping wet, and his cloak was soaked through. “Take off your helmet, General.” He said, tone, too cheery.

Watching at the other man obeyed, Pitchiner took the helmet from his head and tucked it beneath an armour clad arm, revealing sun-kissed skin and deep black hair with striking golden eyes. He bowed his head again, in silent thanks for being allowed to remove the article. He rather hated it, if he was honest with himself. Protective though it may have been, it was impractical in all other respects. Save for keeping his head dry, of course.

“So, tell me, General.” The King started, conversationally. “What was the weather like abroad?”

The General blinked. He glanced out of the large window for a moment before he shook his head and turned to regard the King once more. “Terrible, Sire.” He replied. “All sun, sea and sand.” There was a brief pause in which the King took a moment to absorb the comment, and he laughed, which set of a ripple effect, some members of the court even giggling at the General's little joke.

Jack could have related to the hatred of impractical garments. He was perpetually covered in them (or, actually, not covered was a little more accurate). There was no denying the General's incredibly handsome appearance--and those eyes, they seemed to have a slight innate glow to them. Stupid as Jack thought the man was for so blindly obeying a cruel monarch, he could sense Pitchiner's aura was a kind one. Gold. Pitchiner's aura was gold. 

Jack was good at these things. Sensing. The King liked to use him as a diviner of sorts, which Jack despised for many reasons; two of which being that he hated helping the King in any regard, and that the King became very angry when told things he did not want to hear about his future. 

The concubine's lip quirked imperceptibly at the joke, the humour mostly lost on him through the filter of his hatred. 

The feeling of eyes upon him was not unexpected in this room, as he seemed at present to be the main focus point at present, which suited him just fine. After all. He wanted the King's attention. Yet, there was something different, more intense than any of the others. While the others laughed, Pitchiner imperceptibly searched for those eyes. 

It took him a while, given that those eyes were obscured by a white veil. 

As soon as Kozmotis Pitchiner made pseudo-eye contact--as much as could be had with that damned veil blocking the view--Jack's mouth twitched into a smile that was as mean as it was alluring. Little puppet, it seemed to say, with the bad King pulling your strings. 

That smile...those lips. Dangerous. The first word Pitchiner came to associate with the little white doll with what appeared to be little self-control. Rather than respond to the look in any perceptible way to anyone that mattered, Kozmotis simply blinked and dismissed the boy as he returned his attention to the King, whom hadn't seemed to notice the exchanged, which had lasted no more than a second. 

“Your Majesty.” Pitchiner spoke up again, as the laughter pittered away.

“General?” The King responded, feeling indulgent. 

“I have a request to make.” Kozmotis said without hesitation. He had known this King long enough to know that if you wanted something, you had to win him over first...ingratiate yourself with him.

“What might that be.” The King smiled.

Raising an arm, Pitchiner turned slightly, giving one of his soldiers a signal to stand and leave the throne room for a moment, only to return moments later with the hand of a little girl in his own larger, armoured one. She possessed that same tanned skin and long flowing black locks, although the shape of her eyes was more defined, sharper and rather than gold, her eyes were a bright, rich green.

“This is my daughter.” Kozmotis said as the other Guard released her hand and she hurried to his side. The resemblance was there, but there were clear differences. The announcement of course caused a wave a murmurs and hasty, shocked whispering. One woman even fainted.

“A Bastard.” The King deduced with a slight scowl.

“Yes.” Pitchiner continued without hesitation. “This is why I bring her before you, Sire.” He said, his tone purposeful and held more back-bone in it than the King had heard for decades. “I wish to have her officially legitimised.”

The King raised a brow. That was not usually something one did for their illegitimate children, let alone their daughters. Drumming his fingers against the arm of his throne, the King leaned back into it, contemplative...

Sanderson watched from an upper balcony inside the expansive throne room, his hands resting delicately one laid on top of the other against the obscenely intricate railing. It was carved with swirling, organic-looking patterns, almost as if vines and flowers had once twisted and thrived around the structure -- but had suddenly turned to ivory stone.

He was a short man, shorter even than the King's tiny winter sprite, with golden-blonde hair just as unruly, golden skin and pale, yellow eyes. He wore an ornate gold coat inlaid with white stripes of patterns and a shimmering white cravat; a white gold head head ornament indicated his position as head palace physician. He was highly intelligent, quite cunning, and the only other person in the kingdom who could currently control dream-sand.

He was also under a cruel spell woven by the shallow, frightful King: the monarch hadn't approved of someone in his court possessing higher intelligence than his own, and so he'd taken Sanderson's voice to prevent him from ever again overshadowing the King in educated conversation.  
His eyes followed the graceful, decorated figure of Kozmotis Pitchiner, his old friend, a comrade he'd once thought he might never see again- surely Kozmotis was not as blind as he seemed in his servitude to such a horrible king-

Jack watched him, too; daggers in his icy, vibrant eyes. He found it sickening. The only thing more nauseating to the concubine besides the King himself was a person who ignorantly worshipped such a horrible man.  
It was that permeating, thorough illness of the soul that kept Jack going, that prevented him from taking his own life to end his suffering, his slavery. One day, he'd murder the King. He would paint these perfect walls with that man's blood. He would wash his face with it. He would wear those royal intestines as he now wore his magic-suppressing collar; he would hang his severed head and his eyeballs outside for all to see. One day.

“All right.” The King agreed at last, ignorant of his concubine's hateful, treasonous thoughts. “I'll have her legitimised.” He agreed, sitting forwards once again. 

The General's lips twitched for a moment, in the beginnings of a smile, “If.” He continued, which stilled the motion completely, and Pitchiner froze, wondering just what it was he would have to do for the King. He'd already gone to war for him – won that war, he'd practically just handed the King another country. “You give the court a demonstration of that wonderful work you can do with that dream-sand.” He said, and Pitchiner felt inexplicably relieved. “A duel!” He said “If you can beat my good physician Sanderson, your Daughter and yourself can live without shame for the rest of your days, and you may pass all your belongings to your daughter when the time comes.”

Without a family, a soldier's possessions and money went to the crown, and although Pitchiner owned very little, he possessed quite a bit of money. Fourteen years at war left very little time for house-hunting and a lot of time for saving wages. The General bowed. “As you wish.” He submitted, plainly.

Grinning, The King glanced around and found Sanderson quickly enough gesturing for him. “Come the two of you are to prepare yourselves and you shall have your duel within the hour.” He said, grinning. “Don't worry. You don't have to kill each other.” Which no doubt Pitchiner was relieved about when his eyes travelled upwards and landed on the familiar, although much-changed blond. Again, he resisted the urge to smile. 

His oldest friend. Sanderson Mansnoozie.

Of course, his gaze did not linger and he bowed again and tapped his daughter on the shoulder. She looked startled for a moment, before giving the King an awkward curtsy, and following her father hastily out of the room. She clearly had not been trained in the manners of court or courtesy. Some of the nobles couldn't decide whether the fact was adorable or disgusting.

As soon as the King turned around and, inevitably, looked immediately for his favourite concubine (it seemed to Jack that the man could not go very long without looking for the splendorous beauty of his pet), Jack's eyes shot away from the retreating figure of Kozmotis Pitchiner and his otherworldly insidious stare turned reverent, submissive, sweet. His mouth tugged into a lovely, sheepish smile and he looked down and away with the same bashfulness of a blushing virgin.

Inside his head, he remained in that palace room painted completely red with the blood of a monarch. He had become a master of disassociation over the years.  
For the first time in as long as he could remember, Sanderson felt a twinge of excitement. There was a little bit of life to his step as he swivelled on his foot and exited the throne room via an upper floor corridor. There was not much preparing to be done for him in order to duel, but he was eager to have a moment alone with his friend.

A light rap of knuckles on Pitchiner's door, in the rhythm of an old song they used to know.

By the time Sanderson made it to Pitchiner's room, the man had already taken off his breastplate and had begun take off his leg armour. He opened the door, smiling widely at his visitor, looking miffed for a second when a servant approached from the inside of the room and begun to unfasten the armour whilst he spoke to his old friend. Her had told the boy not to bother (aware that it was easier to get out of armour than into it without help), but if he was to chat with Sanderson and not be late for his demonstration, he might as well let the boy assist him.

He made a point to ignore the servant as he reached out, his hand cupping the back of his his;s friend's blond head as he pulled him into a hug, his other hand embracing the blond tightly. “Old friend!” He said. “It is so good to see you at last.” He said as he pulled away slowly, moving then to rest his hands on Sander's shoulders.

There was a strange tingling sensation that Pitchiner tried for ignore as he looked into his friend's amber eyes...but something about it was not natural, but Kozmotis could not yet discern what it was that was wrong with his friend.

The General's presence and embrace lit up Sanderson's eyes. As Kozmotis held his shoulders, Sanderson brought up his hands and let them sit in a gentle grip on the General's forearms. He wanted so badly to speak to him, to say how he'd missed him, how happy he was to see him alive and unharmed and renowned. His hands moved to Pitchiner's face, and then to his upper arms. As if checking to ensure that he was solid and really here.

With a short chuckle, Pitchiner's own hands travelled to Sanderson's face, and he leaned in pressing their foreheads together before he tilted his head upwards and pressing a kiss to Sander's forehead. His finger's travelled lowered as they moved towards the blond's shoulders again, pausing only when the tingling sensation became stronger. Pulling away, Pitchiner frowned, brows furrowing. Tanned fingers moved to slide over Sander's neck. 

“Magic...” He muttered to himself, his gaze finally meeting his friend's own, one hand moving to rest on his shoulder as the other moved to cup the side of the blond's face. “What is this?” Pitchiner asked. “What happened to you.”

"The King took his ability to speak," Came a sultry voice from just behind Kozmotis, the servant bowing his head to the King's favourite concubine and scurrying off with his eyes reverently averted.

Jack walked right up to the General and took up the work that the servant was performing--removing Pitchiner's armour and straightening the garments underneath--but he did it quite a bit more quickly. The King would not be made to wait again today. And Jack would rather his mood not nosedive even more.

"One of you should take away the King's ability to breathe." 

In an instant, Pitchiner's hand shot out and closed around the concubine's throat, lifting him off the group enough that his his toes barely brushed the floor. For a moment, Pitchiner wanted to let go – the other's skin was shockingly cold. He ignored it, “treasonous whore!” He growled out, his face less than an inch away from Jack's own. He only thanked God that his daughter was with another servant in a different room, washing and changing into fresher, more appropriate clothes for Court.

“I knew I saw evil in that smile of yours, concubine.” Pitchiner's body was tense, as he watched Jack, still unable to see the other's eyes through the veil at this distance – unsure if he even wanted to. “I felt your hate and I am watching you.” He snapped, his grip almost hard enough to bruise. “The only reason I haven't killed you is because you belong to the King.” And he was willing to bet that the boy hated the fact.

Sanderson's small but surprisingly strong hands shot out to grip Kozmotis by his wrists, gently but firmly urging him to release the boy. He shook his head, quickly.  
Jack had gone completely and utterly still until his weight was on his feet again. He rubbed at his throat, spoke quietly and with averted eyes- "I am none of those things by choice."

Sandy didn't look happy. He looked concerned, upset, brows furrowed as Jack continued to unlace and unbuckle the General's armour.

Sandy got Pitchiner's attention and communicated through a sort of archaic sign language that he just hoped Kozmotis knew. 'Not evil.' 

Pitchiner's gaze narrowed upon Sanderson, thoughtful. He off-handedly shoved the Concubine off him and pulled his arm bracers off tossing them behind him on a nearby bed. It had been a long time since he'd seen that wordless script and it took him time to absorb it. He used to have an aunt whom was hard of hearing, and she taught him for a time, before she died. He'd had quite a firm grasp on it for a long time afterwards. “Not evil then.” He snapped. “Just traitorous.”

Sanderson didn't have time to further their conversation and Jack didn't quite have the nerve to tell the General that he wasn't traitorous if he wasn't a part of this kingdom. Jack's kingdom was no more. Jack felt allegiance to no-one.

He motioned toward the door, missing some of that grace that he forced himself to show when under the scrutiny of the King's watch: "...we should hurry. He will anger." The way the concubine spoke, he had a rather prominent accent; this wasn't his first language.

Forcing himself to calm, Pitchiner side, eyeing the other two. “Go on ahead.” He said, very obviously reigning in his temper “I'll follow shortly.” He said, before retreating back into his room, but not before giving Sanderson one more clap on the shoulder. He closed the door and threw off the rest of his armour as quickly as he could and he changed into a pair of trousers – black, loose and flowing at the top and tightening up around the knee to hug at his strong calves. Around his upper arms he wore armlets made of simple cloth and his torso was left bare. The traditional wear for Sand-weavers.


	2. The Same Page

When he finally re-entered the grandeur that was the throne room, the centre had been cleared and the nobles lined the edges of the large room, allowing plenty of space forth duelling pair. The King still sat upon his seat and he whore was back in his place. Kozmotis was tall, surprisingly lean but with obvious power hidden in the muscle beneath hat sun-kissed, scar-riddled skin. His bare feet carried him across he room until he stood at the centre of the room and bowed to the King.

“I am at your command, my King.” He said almost pointedly, and anyone who had seen his exchange with the concubine earlier would have seen it as a kind of jab.

The King huffed and then chuckled. “You must not be too desperate to make a better life for your bastard if you're late.”

“Seraphina.” Kozmotis stated with a frown, quite sternly, and the King raised his brows, but the General did not allow him time to continue “Forgive me. I was saddled with...an unsatisfactory servant.”

Jack's eyes narrowed behind his ornate, bejewelled veil and fresh rage boiled inside him. He remained impressively still, calm on the exterior, and just when he thought he might explode with the inability to encase any more anger...his mind surprised him by steeling more, by spiralling farther into itself, his heart hardening.

Perhaps he would use Pitchiner's blood as paint, too, if the General was to be such a blind idiot.

Sanderson, kneeling beside his friend with head bowed but not nearly with the conviction that the General held in his motions, elbowed the man in his side. 'Enough,' his eyes seemed to say. He knew Jack; he was Jack's only friend and only ally; he remembered the day that boy's family had been slaughtered in front of his eyes. He had been a boy, himself. It was the event that made him rethink his chosen career path as a warrior. That day, he decided he would help, not harm.

Kozmotis merely glanced at Sanderson, taking note of the expression on his face and resisted the urge to frown. Sanderson was behaving as if he should know something, and it seemed, that whatever he should know pertained to the concubine at the King's feet. So, he sighed and stood when the King indicated for the pair to do so. He would ask later.

Find out just who and what the concubine was.

Walking to his position at one end of the hall, Pitchiner watched his long-time friend, clad similarly, although his outfit was a pale yellow. He and Sanderson had been polar opposites in almost everything growing up including their favourite colours, but they got on so well, it was almost like they were two sides of the same coin.

So, it would come as no surprise to Sanderson if he walked out of the hall that day in just a little bit of pain. He would not cut Sanderson, or maim him, but he would not go easy on the other. Not that the other man would go easy on him. 

It came as no shock to Sanderson that Kozmotis had gained the ability to wield two dream-sand weapons at once. Powerful things they were, too, and he felt pride swell inside him. 

That emotion quickly dissipated--along with every other--in place of the fight instinct as it took over. He dodged, flinging his whip so that it snapped around the end of one of Pitchiner's swords whilst he summoned another coil in his free hand. 

If only Sanderson knew exactly what Kozmotis was capable of now. He would be terrifying at worst, and awe-inspiring at best. He doubted he would be able to show his range of weaponry that day, but that did not matter. In fact. It was preferable. 

Rather than struggle to release the sword from the clutches of the whip, Pitchiner de-constructed the sword and then once again brought it back into being, releasing it from the whip's grasp. A few more long strides and Pitchiner was ready to take three swift strikes at Sanderson's person.

Sanderson's extra whip had quickly dissolved and he threw up a shield in their place; he was able to block two of the attacks, but the one that landed sent him staggering backwards. He no longer knew Pitchiner's movements and fighting style by heart, they'd been separated too long; but neither did Kozmotis know Sanderson's. He parried the war hero's blows longer than any other opponent ever had. Eventually he used his whip to pull himself up onto the upper balcony, quickly creating a bow and arrows and firing them at the legendary man as quickly as he could. 

As the volley of arrows came his way, Pitchiner was glad for the freedom of movement that the lack of armour provided. He was able then, to show off his athleticism, quick to dissolve his sword into nothingness as he performed back-flips, until his feet came into contact with the cold marble of a nearby pillar, and with the momentum he had built, he pushed himself up off the pillar and into the air, using the sand to form a short pathway with each wave of his arms as he ran up to Sanderson in mid-air, jumping at last onto the upper level and delivering upon Sanderson a swift kick to the chest.

He was already sweating, and he could see that Sanderson was covered in a healthy sheen of it as well. He was panting, but he hardly noticed – he was in the zone – he was in the part of his head that always came out when he was in battle, whether or not it be a simple duel with a person or even a practice dummy. Nothing his opponent would do would escape his notice...until he was fighting more than ten men, but even ten was pushing it.

The kick to the chest knocked the breath squarely out of Sandy's lungs and he was thankful for his reflexes, allowing the momentum from Pitchiner's strike to send him tumbling backwards and away. He stood quickly, a long, slightly curved, graceful sword forming in his hand with which he blocked and countered Pitchiner's subsequent, rapid blows. He spun around, levelled a powerful, perfectly-placed kick that would have taken off another person's head--but Kozmotis, Kozmotis blocked it, of course. Sanderson countered with a punch, with another kick, both blocked. This duel...could last a while.

As the King watched the duel, his deep brown eyes grew darker and darker, want clear on his face. As they duel went on, it became obvious that the King was no longer himself, but someone else. The true King, whose eyes were grey as the deepest mists and sharp as silver. Brown still lingered at the edge of those irises, leaving only that trace of the other King. He had at some point during the fight pulled Jack up onto his lap, although he was too engrossed in the fight to torment Jack with his touch. 

The duelling pair battled for ten minutes more, and by the end of it, they pair were so tired that eventually, Kozmotis let out a mighty roar, and sent a wave of sand at Sanderson large enough to knock the other clean off his feet and keep him out of play. Enough was enough, he thought, as he watched Sandy collide with a pillar, glad that the sand had somewhat cushioned the impact as it curled around him (Pitchiner's doing).

For the umpteenth time since their duel began, Sandy lost his breath. This time, he did not recover it so quickly. He let himself slump down into the grip of the dreamsand, his head bowing forward, his nose and mouth bleeding. A smile crept up onto his face, despite himself, and he signed weakly: 'Amazing, my friend.'

Kozmotis couldn't help but grin a little as he moved over to his friend, offering the other his hand and hoisting him to his feet and embracing him in a brotherly fashion. Sanderson was not the only one with his share of cuts and bruises. The corner of Pitchiner's lip was split and be could already feel his ribs bruising as well as the stinging cut on his cheek where one of Sander's arrows had grazed him.

As the pair hugged and offered their congratulations, the King blinked and suddenly, his gaze was that familiar chocolate brown with only flecks of grey seeping through. He clapped loudly, which of course meant that it was the cue for everyone else to do so as well. The King laughed “Wonderful!” He said. “Kozmotis Pitchiner...!” He started, catching the man's attention at last. “You now officially have a daughter!” He laughed again, and Pitchiner bowed in gratitude.

\- - - - - - 

He'd been watching her, anyway, the daughter; she was intriguing. She seemed nervous and yet full of spirit at the same time. Her aura was a bright green, and Jack could hear the earth outside responding to her in the most interesting of ways. Like the way the wind sometimes called for him, missing him, the earth beckoned for her. He was already envious; how it must be nice to have a father. The notion almost made its way through the hard shell that was his heart. 

It must also be nice to have the ability to at lest connect with your natural abilities. The power to connect with the elements was not a gift everyone shared, but it was common enough. Seraphina however, seemed particularly powerful. She was young – no more than twelve and already she could speak the language of the trees and hear the words on the wind. Once, she threw a temper tantrum and made it rain. Kozmotis had been teaching her control ever since. That said, she was changeable, like the Earth and all it's workings. Her heart was as steady as her father's and she had his temper, but she did not have his conviction. She often did things on a whim, but soon, Kozmotis hoped she would learn there was a time and a place for all things in life. 

She was a very rare breed of magic-user.

It was late morning when Kozmotis appeared outside in the garden, moving over to a tree and pulling his daughter from it's gnarled branches. He could be heard chastising her slightly as he placed her down, grabbing her hand immediately to hold her in place as she struggled to go back to the three. The father seemed to ignore her struggles and simply set about picking leaves from his daughter's long, dark hair as well as straightening her dress. 

It looked as if this sort of behaviour was routine for him.

The night hadn't been good- for Jack. The King had released him only about an hour ago, and he'd wandered slowly and carefully around in search of Sanderson still covered in more blood than clothing. He could not find the physician, but he found one of many boxes of medicine and salves and alchemical pain-killers he had hidden throughout the palace for the express use of people like Jack. When he saw Pitchiner and Seraphina through one of the huge windows, he was still wrapping bandages around oozing lacerations. "What is the word?" He said to himself, trying to think of how to describe her in this language--"Lucky." 

It took a few moments, but eventually Kozmotis let go of his daughter, who giggled and moved straight back into the trees. Feeling eyes upon him, the General turned, spotting the concubine watching from behind a glass window. Waving over a nearby servant, he told the woman to watch his daughter as she played before he began to make his way over to the boy, slipping inside. He had seen the blood, and had only been glad that his daughter had not laid eyes upon the mess that the boy was.

“What happened here?” He said, giving the boy a once over as he approached. He may not have liked the boy, but to see him covered almost completely in blood was a shock he kept well hidden. What – who, could have done this?

The concubine shook his head, and the motion was accompanied by the glassy, light sound of a thousand perfect diamonds. He felt nothing; even the physical state of his body seemed distant and separate. He was like ice. He spoke quietly, his words tinted by his slight foreign accent (the language of the northern kingdoms, the ones that this kingdom viewed as savages and uncivilized people), as he knelt to place one of Sanderson's bottles back into the little box and tuck it away inside behind a removable piece of stone from the wall.

"You would never believe. If I told you."

The insolent response did nothing to quell the General's anger towards the whore for his words against the King, but he swallowed it down. Without Sanderson around to temper him, he was liable to cause some rather...permanent damage. “Why don't you try me, Savage.” He said, calm enough now to finally place the accent. 

He moved over to the concubine, taking a bloody arm in hand and hoisting the smaller boy to his feet none too gently, looking over the wounds as he did, listening to tinkling of chains of diamonds. It was hard to believe, seeing the General's behaviour, that Jackson had seen a kind aura about him.

And it was that disbelief that made him pause, squinting from behind his bloody veil, in an attempt to look at Pitchiner's aura more closely. "It cannot be right," he said, "I must be wrong. Your aura says you are a kind man."

He swallowed thickly, taste of metal on his tongue. "The King did this, sir, as he always does."

The General paused for a moment, squinting sceptically, choosing for the time being to ignore the other's foreign, cryptic rambling. “The King?” He repeated “What do you mean 'the King'?”

Jack tugged his arm in Pitchiner's too-firm grip, as if requesting to be let go. Blood still dripped from his nose and stained his lips.

"He is no longer himself. He hasn't been since he became King..."  
The General's hoisting him up opened a deep laceration on his arm, but he didn't even wince. It was as if he felt nothing.  
"How am I savage? Because I was born in a certain place? I didn't chose this! He killed all of them! My father, my sister-" He managed to jerk away and ran off as quickly as he could. Something about Kozmotis made him almost feel and that...could break him. He needed that barrier or he would never survive.

The revelation stilled Pitchiner long enough for Jack to run, but the blood on Pitchiner's hand – which he did not so much as blink at – broke him out of his shocked reverie. He shot off after the boy, catching up to him quickly, running past Jack quickly enough that he was able to round on the boy and kneel, wrapping his arm around Jack's legs and hoisting him up over his shoulder, standing up and beginning to run, coolly down the opposite hallways, intent on finding the nearest guard.

He couldn't just let Jack free when the other boy was so badly injured. No matter how much he disliked the boy. Of course. He might come to regret it.

Jack didn’t fight him; he knew better than that, though he couldn’t suppress a little yelp of physical pain that somehow still felt incredibly distant. “Wait, wait… please, General.” 

“What is it?” Pitchiner asked, although he did not stop walking. Hurt as he was, he had expected Jack to fuss, so he did not react to it, although for someone so apparently bull-headed, he had expected Jack to at least struggle some. 

He started to respond, but the blood loss began to make him lightheaded; black crept into the sides of his vision.

Sanderson, up ahead, wheeled around and shot the both of them a wide-eyed look that may very well have been an exclamation mark over his blonde head. He didn't look pleased, seeing Pitchiner bodily hauling around the winter sprite. 

“What.” Pitchiner snapped at Sanderson as he approached “This one was wondering around aimlessly, bleeding half to death.” He said simply. “I was going to your rooms.”

Sandy signed at him as Jack's body became completely limp over Pitchiner's shoulder.

'Has war taken away your kindness? Where is the pure heart of my best friend?'

Resisting the urge to scowl, or even comment, Pitchiner shifted Jack in his grasp, pulling the other into his arms and holding him bridal style. It was a bit late now of course, Pitchiner finally let Jack rest his head comfortably against his chest. His tunic – thankfully black – was no doubt covered in blood, but that did not matter to him.

“Just take me to your rooms so you can treat him.” He bite out. Yes, he was handling Jack somewhat roughly, but the boy was going to pass out anyway, whatever happened. It was a kindness in itself that Kozmotis even spared the treasonous paramour a second thought.

Sandy shook his head and joined Kozmotis at his side and somewhat in front of him, to lead him.

'You've gained his attitude. We are all equal in the beginning.'

Walking alongside Sanderson, Pitchiner frowned “What does that even mean, Sanderson?” He questioned almost irately. “whose attitude.”

Sanderson looked over, at Kozmotis and then- less sternly- at the bloody, unconscious concubine.

He opened a set of wide, heavy doors and waited for Kozmotis to enter with his patient.

'The King. You are turning out to be just like him, and that breaks my heart.'

He locked the doors behind them, alchemical bolts and gears turning to seal it from any key.

Frowning, Pitchiner moved to the cot at the far side of the room and placed Jack upon it, gently, cradling his head as he settled it down on the pillow, before standing up straight and turning away from him, quite pointedly. “I only mean to be loyal.” He said, frowning at Jackson, paying no mind to the locking door. It wasn't the first time he had seen Sanderson making his of his alchemy. “This one,” He said, gesturing off-handed behind him at Jackson. “Rubs me the wrong way.”

Sanderson first carefully peeled back the bloody veil, already setting up a bowl of cold water and a cloth on a table near the boy. He began to wash the blood away, and he looked not only gentle...but sad, in his movements. Heartbroken. Sanderson had more than his voice stolen from him, and he tried to fill that void by helping others...even if he could only help marginally. Sanderson's lovely golden hands slightly trembled.

'This one,' he signed, 'Is dying. He is the last of his kind. They don't age like us, you know? A little like elves, but they cannot survive in captivity. He is tortured. Let him be. Let him suffer without your adding to it.'

Turning to look at Sanderson – thankful that the other man's form was blocking his view of Jackson's face (for he was not sure if he ever wanted to look into those eyes) – he could not miss his trembling, but he chose not to comment. “Yes, he mentioned something to that effect.” He paused “But I cannot be blamed for what has happened to his people. I know nothing about it, in truth.”

'You can show a little leniency to a wild creature forced to give his life and his body to the man who slaughtered his family. Surely you know something of compassion still, my old friend.'

'Remember your horse? Remember 'loved'? How wild he was at first, and how badly he responded to hatefulness. And what a loyal companion he became when you showed him kindness.' 

“That boy is not a horse.” Pitchiner said pointedly. That comment, hopefully betrayed some compassion, some humanity. “But what do you mean? Surely the King could not have...yes. Yes, I know men change when they are crowned, I am no fool. All men change when they are crowned.” He said, watching the back of Sanderson's head as he worked “But even so... when I went to war fourteen years ago, fighting an actual threat, the North was a peace with us. King Eric would not have attacked them.”

Sanderson turned, and looked straight into his best friend's beautiful golden eyes.

'I was there. I was one of the soldiers there. Not a moment goes by that I do not see it in my mind's eye. That was the day I decided to give up my career and become a doctor.'

And indeed, Sanderson's eyes darted away, just for a moment, a look of increasing distress and trauma inside them. 'It is my fault...he did not die with his family. I could not bear the sight of another slaughtered child. I thought I saved one. One...from an entire species. I did not know I was condemning it.'

He turned again, back to Jack, still as the dead and lips tinged blue. He held out his hand, a long, razor-sharp dagger forming in his hand. He held it above the boy's heart, as he had so many times before in these situations- I can end your suffering, I can end it now- 

Storming up to Sanderson, Kozmotis hooked a foot around the leg of Sandy's chair and turned it forcefully around, long tanned fingers curling around Sanderson's hand and stilling the blade. “That is murder Sanderson.” He told the other “That is murder and you will be condemned for it.” The trembling of his friend's hands made Pitchiner reach up, wrapping his fingers around the blade and forcefully de-constructing it before he took his friend's face in his hands and kneeling down in from of him. 

“Would I could have stopped war from reaching you, Sanderson.” He told his friends. “You would not have survived with me in the East.” He would have no doubt seen his friend go mad, and the thought of it broke his heart. Kozmotis had always been stronger mentally, always been able to fortify himself from the worst of it – to desensitize himself. He leaned up and pressed a kiss to his friend's forehead. “I wish I could have kept you from such needless violence.” Because if there was anyone Kozmotis was prepared to trust with the accuracy of any information, it was his friend. His best friend. Then, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to Sander's lips and stood at last, once again turning away from Jackson.

It was not the first time the pair had kissed, although there was only affection in it, a friendly affection and in no way lustful. It was a gesture the pair had taken to when one or the other man was in the deepest of pain. “I am sorry.”

Sanderson's expression remained distressed, contorted with traumatic events still stuck inside his head. Women, the elderly, babies, dying...he could hear the screams at any given moment. He could hear the hateful laughter of soldiers with black in their hearts, and tears formed in his golden eyes as he reached up to hold his friend's face.

'There is no-one in this world I love more than you,' he signed, when he pulled his hands away from Pitchiner's face. In his hand he formed two small boys out of yellow sand, running across his palms and up and down his forearms as they chased a ball, fought with toy swords; the illustration of memories with Kozmotis.

The playful forms of Kozmotis and Sanderson shifted into a woman holding a baby and running away, fire chasing her. The flames engulfed the mother, and that part of the image dissipated; the baby curled into a fetal position, and it grew larger, it grew lean and beautiful, it grew into the form of Jackson with his flowing strips of fabric and his diamonds. It remained curled in on itself.  
Then, an image of Sanderson appeared. This Sanderson was bound to a post and was being brutally, remorselessly whipped; the curled figure of Jack picked itself up, and it ran across Sanderson's palms to the miniature, punished version, and it shielded him. The sand-Jack draped himself bodily over the alchemist and took the blows for him.

'You see...he is my Guardian.'

By the time Sanderson was done, tears had welled in Pitchiner's eyes and he reached up, pulling Sanderson down onto the floor where he had fallen to his knees during Sanderson's story. He wrapped his arms around the man, reaching behind the man to pull up the other's tunic, revealing the scarred tissue beneath, and he gasped choking on air, pulling away as the tears fell. “My friend-” He said, reaching for Sander's face again “My friend, I am sorry- so sorry.” Kozmotis himself was quaking now, with confusion and sorrow and perhaps even the beginnings of anger. 

Fourteen years of loyal and good service abroad only to come home to a country divided. The lands to the North... “Why- why would he go- wh-” Pitchiner could not process the the information. “It wasn't- it wasn't Eric, not Eric..!” He protested, his hands moving to grip the front of Sanderson's robe tightly, as if he were trying to ground himself. “Tyberius...his influence..! Why North, Sanderson?!”

In these moments, Sanderson wanted more than anything to be able to say his friend's name again. Kozmotis. There wasn't even a sign symbol for it; Sandy just used the word for 'beloved' to refer to the General in his signed speech. He placed his palms on Pitchiner's toned upper arms and stroked him gently there with his thumbs.

He pulled away enough to press a kiss to Pitchiner's forehead, and to kiss and wipe away his tears. Seeing Kozmotis cry broke his heart, too. He wanted to wrap the General up and protect him, even though Kozmotis Pitchiner...he needed no help in that department.  
'The bird fae to the South and the Pooka, too...the King does not approve of immortal beings. Witches and savages, he calls them.'

There was silence from Kozmotis for a long while, before he blinked, his eyes regaining some of their fire, and a kind of fury that was foreign on his features sparked up, and although his gaze met Sanderson's own, it was not him that his anger was directed towards. “...More like he didn't want any true opposition.” He tone was quiet, but obviously dangerous. The King, if what Sanderson said was true, intended no doubt to send Kozmotis off to war again very shortly. He had returned from fighting the forest folk – usually peaceful but the King had claimed they were a threat and who was Kozmotis to deny at the time? They could manipulate the trees, the wind and the rain and even kill the flowers. There had been a period of two years in which the King's army could not maintain their food supplies they had grown for themselves within the walls of their base because of the unseasonal frost they had sent. Although they could not as easily manipulate that kind of weather as well as Jack's own people, they could do it, if they were in large enough groups...and they were.

But his daughter was one of them and although they were not extinct, they had been put in their place and now their Kingdom belonged to King Eric. To go to war with the neighbouring Kingdoms... He could not stomach the idea. Not again.

He stood then, “Let me out.” He ordered Sanderson as he walked towards the door, collecting himself. He did not spare Jackson a single glance, although he certainly took stock of the boy's situation.

Sanderson…was less than willing and enthusiastic to let Kozmotis storm out, challenge the King, and get himself killed. If there was anyone in this kingdom who would have even come close to defeating Tyberius' successor, it would have been Pitchiner; but Sanderson would not risk his friend's life. 

He didn't open the door. When Kozmotis inevitably turned around, he signed: 'What do you plan to do, brother?' 

Pitchiner's gaze was furious, and his form was tense. He hated to admit it, but Sanderson was right. What could he do? With the rage still boiling within him however, he was unable to think of a descent, vaguely intelligent, and instead did the only thing he could think of to bring release. He threw his arms up “I don't” and brought them back down again with a stomp of his foot, sand erupting from around his arms and onto the floor, “know..!” He shouted as the sand ricochetted off the wall and even breaking a nearby shelf and shattering a number of vials and jars. 

Sanderson just managed to dodge a jar of pills, his hands shooting up to shield his face. Even Pitchiner couldn't unlock that door, so he waited a few moments for his friend to breathe before he walked over to him and looked into his eyes- 'We will strike back. But we must strike coordinated, and planned, and careful.' 

“Ah...Gods, Sanderson.” Pitchiner bemoaned as he stumbled back into the door behind him, watching his friend's face. “Why couldn't you have left me as I was...this...this talk is treason.” He said, his tone both sorrowful and defeated. “To hear it from you of all people...oh, my friend...”

Sandy shook his head quickly. As he signed, his hands still trembled, still tainted reddish with the blood of the last of Jack's species. 'Treason is only an idea. Think of it as...null and void, if the King is as bad as this one is.' 

Shaking up, Pitchiner scoffed. “Sanderson!” Pitchiner shouted, before he forced himself to calm. “I know History was not your favourite lesson, but do you not recall the Legacy of Tyberius?!” He snapped. “The Kings and Queens of our country are all cursed!” He exclaimed “The last King was tainted, this King is tainted, the future King will be tainted..!” It was not at all a comforting thought. “When Eric was crowned...I had hope he would have been able to better fight the influence of the curse...but...now I see that I was wrong.”

'Then we need someone stronger than Eric!' Sanderson responded. 'We need someone with both strength and kindness! Like you, brother.' 

'And I believe I have found a way to cage at least the bulk of them.'

'An al-chemically altered metal...' 

Frowning, Pitchiner was about to protest that he did not particularly want to become a vessel for evil and become the embodiment thereof when Sanderson continued, and Pitchiner was forced to still his tongue. “Wait, what do you mean altered metal?”

'Spirits cannot pass through it. It could be our first hope of imprisoning them.'

Of course...the shadow creatures that Tyberius had created as a means of his own protections when he had put the curse into affect. The King's castle was never empty, and there were eyes and ears everywhere and what on earth were they even doing talking about this. “Okay.” Kozmotis said. “I'll humour you.” He said. Sanderson's room was light enough, with large windows on every wall and very sparse furnishings. The likely-hood of the Fearlings surviving long in such strong daylight would be impossible to imagine. “How and where would you build this...cage.”

Sanderson was as intelligent as Pitchiner was a war hero, and there was a reason for every action that he took- no matter how mundane and normal it seemed. 'It is complex, and I do not have the words to describe it in sign language. You will have to trust me. But trust me knowing that I value your life more than my own.' 

Frowning, Pitchiner reached forwards, and cupped Sanderson's head in his hands as he brought their foreheads together. “Sanderson.” He said closing his eyes “You are my oldest and truest friend...and I would die before I let anything happen to you.” He confessed, before opening his eyes again and pinning the other man with an intense look – one that was full of promises “And whatever you are planning...I...I'll do it. Even if we fail, I will protect you to my last breath.”

Sanderson afforded him a small smile in response, his hand coming up to hold Pitchiner's face, then into his hair, and then it pulled away and waited, palm exposed, for Kozmotis to join him in the old handshake they'd always shared as children. A sign of brotherhood, of a promise to protect until the end. 

Pitchiner couldn't help the short bark of laughter that left him in remembrance of the gesture and immediately went to close his hand around Sanderson's own, giving it a good squeeze.

'We will win. I...I am just happy that you and I are on the same page now.' 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed that!
> 
> All of this will pick up soon, I promise. 
> 
> Stuff will happen.
> 
> This is known.


	3. The Locket

The following day was filled with activity. Seraphina was getting fitted for a new dress and Kozmotis with a new suit. For the past few nights, he and his daughter had been sharing a private room in the barracks, and although he and his daughter had no problem with sharing, she was a growing girl and Kozmotis needed to find her her own space. In fact, he had already sent someone out the previous day to look for suitable homes for both himself and his daughter (not to mention, he wanted to get as far away from the castle as he could as quickly as possible).

The servants were scurrying about making preparations for the feast (preparations that had begun the day prior and been going on through the night) as well as the ball. Catering, music, décor. Apparently, the staff in the castle were used to the King throwing impromptu parties. He threw them often, although this one, he had told them, was to be special. Very special. So, the servants pulled Pitchiner aside and quite literally handled him all day. He hardly had a moment to himself. Once his measurements were taken the material for his clothes for the evening chosen, the woman took Pitchiner aside and put him in a bath that was just a little bit too hot and allowed him to soak, by which he meant refused to let him out. Soon enough, they had Pitchiner smelling of mint, lemon and bergamot whilst still somehow allowing him to maintain a sort of bark-y masculine musk.

It had quite literally taken Pitchiner all day to get ready, and he had been only able to escape for ten minutes at the most from the clutches of the servants. He would have fought them, but knew that doing so would frighten them and he did not wish to be feared. Yes, they led him around and forced him into baths and washed his face and scrubbed his skin raw, and even styled his hair for him, although his did not look much different from what it usually was. The difference was only that instead of having his hair combed back neatly, there were a few banks loose with drew attention to his already striking eyes.

The celebration was already in full-swing by the time Pitchiner arrived, his tunic black, his sleeves and collar trimmed with gold, the inner edges of which seemed to tapper off on the inside, like swirls of dream-sand that slowly, slowly fades to grey as the pattern travelled up the sleeve and down the collar of his tunic. He wore his sword at his side on a black belt studded with gold, with his figure-hugging trousers and long black boots that ended just below the knee. He stood in the doorway, with his daughter at his side.

She herself for a green dress, with pale green silk lacing at the front and back, the skirt of which seemed to be decorated with patterns of pale green roses on the dark emerald backdrop. Her hair was left loose save fore the band at the back of her head that kept bangs from falling into her face. She even seemed to have flowers laces through her hair. Her eyes were framed with charcoal, but other than that, she wore no make-up. 

The pair were announced.

Pitchiner bowed to the room and his daughter curtsied and they returned the gesture.

Upon their arrival, the King stood. “At last!” He laughed, pleased that his celebration seemed to be going so well. “The guest of honour has arrived!”

The King's most prized possession--his beautiful, rare, ice concubine--had spent the day in much the same fashion as Kozmotis, but he was long accustomed to that. In the eyes of many, Jack's life would have been envied; he lounged around in baths, the servants prepared food for him that he did not eat, they crushed flowers against his skin to lend it a subtle scent to accompany his natural one of winter. Cold, clean.   
      
His wounds were cleverly hidden by by diamond-studded ribbons wrapped around a slender arm, around his waist, down a leg. Strips of fabric hung from his silver collar and trailed far behind him as he walked. His veil fell to the floor, this time, leaving none of his face open for others to behold, pinned down to his forehead by an intricate silver headband with long beads of the finest jewels. As usual, he sat at the foot of the King or he stood and fed him fruit and wine.   
      
Sanderson had not told him about Pitchiner's change of heart.

Later, when the King was very well occupied and paying no attention and had, for the moment, sent his pretty little pet away to impress the nobles with what they could not have, Jack found Pitchiner's daughter amidst a few large, older men, who jeered and grabbed at her.   
      
He knelt just outside the group. "Seraphina. Come." 

Pitchiner was far too busy with entertaining other Courtiers with stories of this and that, even telling them about his daughter, to know that said daughter was being harassed. She had wandered from his side some time ago, and he had only been vaguely aware of it, thinking she would be back in a moment. Of course...she was not.

Still, on the far side of the room, Seraphina stepped to one side, away from the fat man whom had made a grab at her, and calling her a 'bastard'. She had been about to tell the man that she was not when a voice stopped her. She whirled around and unthinkingly reached out and immediately took instruction from the veiled man (judging from his voice) in front of her. She quickly slipped between the men and moved to stand before the scantly clad lad. “Yes?” She said politely, as if she was not terribly rattled. Like her father in respect to the fact that she had manners and calm...when they were important at the very least.

He held out a hand to her. Like the elves they'd met in the East, he was pale and delicate and seemed to exude more light than everyone else in the room. "Come with me." 'These are bad men,' he said in elvish, recognizing the look about her.

'Can you speak it?' 

Pleasantly surprised, Seraphina took the proffered hand and allowed Jack to lead her away “Yes...” She said shyly. She could not see him, but she knew from the way he moved, spoke and dressed that he was special...beautiful if what she had gathered about this person was true. She didn't exactly know what a concubine was, but he was one, and he was the King's favourite...whatever that meant. “So can father...”

"No-one else here knows it," he replied, his voice sultry but kind. His grip on her hand was light and cold. "We are a bit like kindred spirits, you and I." 

Seraphina was one step away from being somewhat alarmed by Jackson's manner of speech, but she was a smart girl, and a patient one (for the most part) “...My father says I am not to speak with you.” She told him bluntly. “But if you have something to say to me, please.”

An exasperated, sad sigh could be heard beneath the veil, and Jack led them silently behind the pillars and then pointed out her father, easily within reach. He spoke in Elvish again: "Then I say...stay close to your father. Lucky girl." 

Blinking, Seraphina faltered, obviously puzzled “Is that all?” She asked “You just wanted to take me to father?”

"...Yes? Is that so odd?" Jack crouched, the strips of fine fabric fanning out behind him. Behind the pillars, no-one could see, and he lifted up his veil to look at her. 

At the sight of Jack, Seraphina's eyes widened and she looked away, a pale pink blush growing on her cheeks for a moment “N-no..!” She said, perhaps a little too loudly at first, and covered her mouth for a moment, before she continued much more calmly “You did just say we were kindred spirits.” She didn't know the definition of the word, but in context...she assumed it meant something akin to 'friends', “I guess I was expecting something...deeper or...super-secret or something.” He said, with a shy little laugh. But soon, she stepped away and pulled her hand from Jack's own. “Thank you,” He said with a curtsy and turned to leave.

"Wait- Lucky. Let me give you this." 

Pausing, Seraphina turned back around, blinking “What...?”

He removed a necklace that sat over his corset of a collar- a quarter moon with what looked like ice and wings folding around it. It seemed to glow on its own, hanging from a bright silver chain. "I don't have much longer, so you can have this. It was my mother's. I think it was meant to protect me, but it's just a necklace, after all. Maybe it will work for you." 

Taking the necklace, Seraphina looked upon it with awe. Her hand travelling to her own neck, and her lightly tanned fingers trailed over a golden chain, with what appeared to be a locket hanging from it. Taking a deep breath, she reached back and unclasped the necklace, and handed it to Jack, with a little smile. “You should keep this.” She told him and she put Jack's necklace in place of her old one, and tucked it into her dress “My Daddy protects me all the time-”

“I certainly try.” Came a cool voice from behind her, causing the little girl to jump slightly in surprise.

Jack startled so hard that he actually froze, staring at Seraphina and willing her with his eyes to pull that veil down because he was rather frozen. He was caught. Kozmotis hated him; Kozmotis...would surely have him punished for talking to the girl. 'Please,' he said, in her mother's language.

With a squeak, Seraphina pulled the veil down over Jackson's face even before Pitchiner could get an accidental look at him. She turned to her father as he moved around the pair, to better look at them. Under normal circumstances, he would say that the pair looked like a couple of mischievous children...and they were. But Jack was not merely a child, and his daughter knew better. It did not, however, take him long to notice the golden chain – stark as it was again all the white and silver that adorned Jackson's form – in the boy's grasp.

Recognising the chain immediately, he looked to Seraphina, whom apparently had caught on to the fact that he had cottoned on to the exchange of jewellery. His eyes fell on her neck and he reached down, wordlessly, pulling the chain up carefully and inspecting the pendant. “It's beautiful.” He said, tucking the necklace away again and standing up straight.

He was a little hurt that his daughter would give away the locket containing not only his, but his mother's picture so freely...but Seraphina did not to anything without a good reason. “Come along.” He said, taking Seraphina's hand in his own as he walked away, this time...sparing Jackson one last glance, allowing Seraphina time to wave goodbye.

The concubine was no longer looking at them; he'd stood up, and he was turned slightly away, that locket cradled in his hands as if it was the most precious thing in the world. He would take it to Sanderson- he would have Sanderson keep it safe. He would not let the King destroy the one gift he had ever received. He didn't even want it tainted by his body, which he always felt was dirty with the touch of the evil monarch. 'I hope it lights your way, Lucky,' he said to himself before he slipped silently away like mist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do let me know if you spot errors or just plain want to tell me what you think!
> 
> This would make me a happy bunny.


	4. Sweetest Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Pitchiner has one surprise too many and tells stories.

The party went on for hours. Seraphina spent the evening practically clinging to her father's tunic, which he seemed to pay no mind though, although he would ask her when the night was over just what had her so tense. Sanderson and Pitchiner hardly had time to spare to speak to each other and Jack spent the evening by the King's side. The pair had even disappeared for a short while.

Of course, those that noticed suspected the King wanted his little concubine to pay him some...special attention. That said, it was never long enough for it to be full-on sex. More than likely, Jack was pleasuring the King with either his hand or his pretty little mouth. The best news about public affairs like this one? The King could not damage Jack when he was expected in the public eye. Blood was so unbecoming to the wider majority.

Still, Kozmotis danced. He danced with eligible ladies and he danced with his daughter and when he was not dancing he was being forced to talk so much he hardly had time to feast and drink. He did however, make sure Seraphina had had a decent amount of food for the evening.

Soon enough however, the King stood, his Concubine sitting at his feet as per usual “Good people..!” He cried aloud, making sure to get everyone's attention “Good people, this night...this night is a special one!” He started, in a tone of a man about to give a rather lengthy speech. “It is a night in which we officially welcome our soldiers home and formally welcome our dearest, bravest General Pitchiner to Court with his completely legitimate daughter.”

Upon hearing the emphasis on the words, Pitchiner's lips pursed slightly. Clearly, people were having a hard time adjusting to the fact that Kozmotis – the pinnacle of morality and righteousness – had had a child during the long, long years at war and had the audacity to return home with her. Nevermind the cads who took women and left them with the consequences. He would have married Seraphina's mother if he could have. The speech went on for some time, and some of it was truly inane...and it also became apparent that the King was not quite sober, judging by the way he kept rambling and trailing off into tangents. 

But eventually, the crowd was more than happy to hear the King get to the crux of the matter. “And so..!” He said, loudly “It is with great pleasure I invite our Great General Kozmotis Pitchiner and his sweet daughter to live among royalty, here in the Palace!”

At that, Pitchiner stilled, as did Seraphina, and murmured, followed by hasty claps and cheers filled the room. Kozmotis forced himself to smile a little, almost as if embarrassed, and bowed to the King, because...how could you say no to the King? Especially during a very, very public announcement.

Sanderson's eyes went very, very wide. They darted around, from the intoxicated King to the General, who he could tell was shocked and very unhappy but no-one else would be able to; Sanderson just knew the vicissitudes of Pitchiner's subtle expressions. Why? Why ask Kozmotis to live in the palace? The King did nothing that did not serve his own end somehow.   
      
Sanderson reached into the pocket of his coat- a long, elegant garment, deep gold and similarly to Pitchiner's- covered in swirling decor. He'd even made an attempt at combing his hair back. His fingers closed around the locket that Jack had asked him to protect.   
      
As for the concubine, Jack remained as still as a statue, even as a drunken man clambered near him and grabbed at some of the fabric that spilled down the stairs leading to the throne. 

“Oh, but I'm not done, I'm not done!” The King laughed boisterously as he forced himself upright grabbing on to Jack and hoisting him up as well, hands closed tightly around Jack's arms through the fabric of his veil. “You sir, get the entire right side of the east Wing on the second floor!” He continued, shaking Jack almost excitedly “And your daughter gets the left!”

It was then that Pitchiner felt the need to force himself to speak up “That's very-”

“And- and here..!” He said, giving Jack a pointed shove forward “Take him for the night as a welcome gift.”

Jack was still a little lightheaded from the injuries he'd sustained the night prior- the blood loss; the shaking did not help, and when the King shoved him, he could not keep his balance. He tumbled down the few steps leading up to the throne and landed hard at Pitchiner's feet. Sanderson took an automatic step forward, angered, but forced himself to still. 

There were startled gasps all around, even Seraphina jumped back a step. Pitchiner on the other hand, steeled himself and knelt, lifting Jack into his arms carefully, making sure that he was not pulling on the veil in any way that it would hurt him. “I am thankful, Sire.” He stated, bowing his head.

Laughing the King then gestured to the guards, and laughed “Show them to their chambers! The party's over anyway!” He chuckled, taking a sip of his wine which he'd picked up from the arm of his chair. “All of you, out!”

Pitchiner did not wait, and instead turned, regarding Seraphina for a moment “Go with the guards.” He told her. “They will take care of you.” Then, his eyes searched the crowd for Sanderson, and when he found him, he made sure to make eye contact, before directing his gaze on his daughter and then his friend a few times, subtly directing his friend to go with her. Once that was through however, he moved out of the room, a path easily clearing for him as he exited.

It felt like a decade before the pair found themselves practically trapped in Pitchiner's new...permanent bedroom.

Once inside, Jack crouched down on the floor- on top of expensive rugs that someone probably died weaving. He felt nothing, disassociated completely from the pain, but there was a stubborn sluggishness from his limbs that suggested weakness.   
      
"…you look tense." 

Understatement of the Year Award goes to..! “Get on the bed.” He snapped, his temper getting the best of him for a moment. He may have understood the other's plight, but he had not prepared for this. He moved over to the window on the other side of his room, pulling back the curtains for a moment only to realise...he had a balcony.

It was dark out and almost impossible to see...and that did not bode well. He closed the curtains again quickly.

This wasn't an unexpected command. Jack had never been with anyone else aside from the King, but he felt that he had a fairly firm grasp on the desires of men. Men were bad. He pulled himself up from the floor with some trouble, but he did as he was told- climbed onto the bed and sat, one leg bent in front of him and the other tucked underneath. 

For a moment, all Pitchiner could do was stare. He couldn't see the other's face, he knew the other wasn't even trying and that....the simple action of sitting on the bed...seemed so alluring. “Now go to sleep.” He ordered pointedly. 

Had Pitchiner seen how stupidly Jack blinked underneath his veil, he might have laughed. "...what? You wish for me to sleep?" He shifted, moving backwards until his back touched pillows piled high. 

“Yes.” Pitchiner said quickly with a slow nod as he brought his hands together in front of him “Sleep.” He continued “That thing you do where you close your eyes...relax and breath and have sweet...sweet dreams.”

"When you live in a nightmare, any dream is a sweet dream." He brought his knees together and sunk down into the pillows; even his feet were decorated with intricately woven threads laid with diamonds. 

Watching the other move...it was like watching a wave, rolling smoothly in and out with the tide on a calm, windless day. The sailor in Kozmotis wanted to climb aboard, but the gentleman- the moral man in him steeled himself...and mentally declined the invitation.

Instead, he moved over to the bed, summoning a palm full of white sand “Poetic, truly...” allowing it to curl shapelessly around his long, tanned fingers as he took a seat upon the side of the bed, beside Jack, turning on his side a little to loom, just slightly over the boy. “But why not tell me about something you like...”

He was momentarily a little too distracted by the dreamsand. A small, delicate hand reached out to touch it and it curled around his fingers. He gently took one of Pitchiner's hands into his own, slowly as if to allow the man to pull away if he wanted to. He only held it, his other hand joining it to ghost over the top, fingertips trailing over Pitchiner's knuckles. "You have beautiful hands. This is a deep scar...what happened here?" 

“A spear.” Told told Jackson, turning his hand slowly in the other's grasp, figures began to form, of two men, one obviously Kozmotis by the shape of the armour, and the other, faceless, with armour less distinguishable. All faces blurred together in times of war. It was the first kill that always stuck with a man, however. “the blade had been dipped in poison,” He told Jack quietly “And cut into the muscle...” The figures began to fight, Kozmotis made swings at his opponent and the other hit back. For a time they made no contact, but soon, Kozmotis got close and cut the man twice...but the other hit back. “I couldn't use my hand properly for almost a year.” And sometimes the wound still ached, but that was the case with quite a few of his wounds, especially the most recent. “I had to rely on Dreamsand almost the entire time.” The Kozmotis pulled back and his dreamsand figure raised his hand and summoned blades of sand and threw them at the enemy. The blades made contact, and the figure fell, and the image dissipated.

Jack's expression was well hidden behind the veil, but his little gasps gave an indication as to what it might look like. He listened raptly, and when Kozmotis finished the tale, set his hand down atop the other man's again. "That's what that dark spot is," he stated, his voice soothing in its own calm way. "Some poison still remains inside. And here," he said, shifting his hand to lightly brush against Pitchiner's forearm. 

“Yes.” Pitchiner said, quite suddenly, pulling away from Jack's hand, where it had pushed up the sleeve to his tunic, and clasped his hands around both of Jack's own. “They attempted to poison me a lot.” The other male was being a lot more talkative than he ever had been before, not to mention a lot less hostile, but he assumed that Sandy had spoken to him of their exchange. He didn't know of course that Sandy hadn't said a word to that effect.

"It hurts you, badly," he stated, and he could feel it through the connection of their hands. And Pitchiner, he could feel the life of this little creature seeping out of him at an alarming rate. Anyone who could control the dreamsand was sensitive to these things. 'This one is dying....' Sandy had said...."I could help you, but this." He touched the collar.

Oh yes, the uncommon chill in Jack's skin was natural, but there was something darker there, and it felt like death's touch, indeed. “It's only a wound.” He told Jack simply. “And it has healed.” He explained off-handedly. He knew the poison was still inside of him, but the healers had nullified its effects, and Pitchiner was in no danger of losing his life. “As for your collar...we will have it off. But I cannot say when.” The magic surrounding the silver band around the concubine's neck was strong, strong enough that anyone could feel it...and the stronger enchantment, the more powerful the person whose magic it trapped.

Jack blinked behind his veil. “…I will have it off? I think I just hallucinated.”

“And on that note. Why are you being so…kind?”

Pitchiner wanted to sigh “You're not exactly being aggressive either, boy.”

Jack actually laughed a little. The sound was odd coming from him, as if he hadn't been capable of it. "I like it better this way. I like....conversations." 

All Pitchiner could do was let out a hum of agreement. Yes, Pitchiner supposed, you wouldn't have much of an opportunity for that, being stuck beneath such a vile man. Of course, he could never say that. He still couldn't stomach the idea of speaking against the King, even if he had agreed to this...coup. He had spent so many years in the service of this man that it was hard not to want to believe in his cause.

“Yes,” Pitchiner forced himself to say, almost choking on the word. “They say all the best things derive from them.”

Jack was silent for a while. He could feel the conflict in the room, in Pitchiner. "...what does the wind feel like?" 

“Breezy.” Pitchiner said as he stood, taking Jack bodily into his arms before popping the lad onto his feet and moving over to the balcony and throwing the doors open, gesturing for Jack to step outside wordlessly.

The winter sprite actually backed slightly away, face tilted up at Pitchiner but hidden. "...you're not going to tell him...are you?" 

“Yes, I'm going to tell him.” Pitchiner said, unable to help himself, the conflict still evident within him. “Because I thought, rather than sleep with you like any normal person would, I would torture you mentally.” He said, somewhat impatiently “Because I obviously have nothing better to do.”

Jack's heart took such a steep plummet into his gut that he actually lost control of his balance for a moment and stumbled slightly backwards, crouching in on himself before crawling back onto the bed. Where he knew he belonged.

"I feel you there," he said to nothing, "Do it now. I'm ready!"

At that, Pitchiner paused. “...I'll admit that was rather tasteless of me.” He said, raising a hand as if to placate Jackson “Will you come off there, I will not bed you, boy.” He told the other, quite seriously.

The poor boy was shaking hard enough that his diamonds rattled, and he seemed unable to actually move. Way to go, Kozmotis. Sandy will hit you. 

Resisting the urge to sigh, Kozmotis closed the balcony door softly and he approached the bed. He hadn't imagined the other would react so strongly, but then again, he hadn't been thinking when he'd said it. It was a bit late, but Pitchiner realised that humour – especially this kind of humour (however tasteless) was lost on Jackson. “Okay...” He said, as he moved over to the bed and sat on the edge. “Come here.” He said gesturing to his side, an arm raised. He would let Jackson think that was what he wanted if that is what it took to comfort him.

It was the only thing he knew. He shifted too immediately, trying very obviously to keep up his sultry demeanour- but failing, muscles quaking with weakness. He sank into Pitchiner's side, breathing with the labour of an old, old man. 

Wrapping his arm firmly, but gently around Jackson. It was somewhat painful to see Jackson behaving like this, so broken and so eager to please in his terror. Pitchiner turned his head, pressing his lips against the Winter Sprite's veiled ear, whispering lowly “The wind...” He began, “Feels like...a cool caress,” And he raised his free hand, summoning that pale sand again, allowing it to flow freely around Jack's head, letting it brush against the other's skin through the veil “It curves to every contour of your body and your face and you can feel it tussling your hair. Even on warm days it cools you, feels you as you feel it. It's the most familiar thing on this earth...and nobody ever pays it any mind...”

It had been years since he felt anything inside that might cause an actual reaction of emotion rather than broken, traumatized reflex, but Pitchiner's soothing voice accompanied by the brush of the dreamsand, it brought a sting to his eyes. He stilled, not wanting to disturb the sand or cause it to go away, and tears began to fall. They glowed a little, like only the tears of the Lunar people did...but then again, Jack had never confessed to being a pure-bred. He'd said he was Sera's kindred spirit. Maybe he was royalty once, too. 

Beneath the veil, Pitchiner could not see the tear's shine, but what he did see was the wet patch that the tear left. Reaching up with the hand that as previously been manipulating the sand, the General cupped Jack's cheek in his hand and brushed the tears away, through the fabric. “Lie back, Jackson...” He whispered “Sleep...and I'll give you the sweetest dreams...”

He did eventually drift off into a restful sleep that he hadn't experienced in a very long time, something...released by the tears. And Death was close- Death walked beside him and held his fingers, and that was the loveliest comfort. 'Soon, little one,' he said and Jack couldn't see his face because it was hidden behind a veil- just like him. 'I will take you home soon. Hold on a little longer.' 

Pitchiner did not sleep that night, intent on providing Jackson with the dreams he had promised, as Jack lay buried in the pillows beside him, Kozmotis sat upright, concentrating the sand and affecting Jack's mind. He brought wind and the smell of the woods after the rainfall, and the sounds of water tumbling from the top of a waterfall and crashing into the still river below. Of course...there was a darkness there that Pitchiner could not push aside completely....Sanderson had always been better at manipulating dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed that. Feel free to leave questions and comments. Anything you have to say would be very interesting and appreciated!


	5. The Wind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bad things happen. Brace thyselves.

The next day, Sanderson had questions and that stern look in his eyes when he met Kozmotis for breakfast.

'You didn't....did you?'

Pitchiner had been sitting outside, watching his daughter playing, with some of the younger servants, her dress unsuitable really for the rough play, but he did not mind...and neither did she apparently. He had been up until a moment ago, sharpening his sword. But he glanced up once he spotted Sander's feet. “Didn't do what?” He responded to the other's signing.

Sandy made a smile that would have been a laugh, back when he had his voice. 'You read sign without looking?' 

“I didn't have to, old friend.” He said simply, smiling. “I knew you would ask me something to that effect today.” Because given how protective Sanderson was of the poor boy, it would be surprising if he did not. “I did not, by the way.” He made a point to say. “Although I thought it best if I told him to pretend to limp for a few hours.”

'Thank you, brother.' Sanderson signed, and then he sat down beside the general, sharing a piece of bread from the kitchens. He pulled from his coat the locket-

'he asked me to keep this safe. Said his body was too dirty for it.'

Shaking his head, Pitchiner sighed and returned to sharpening his sword, but kept his face angled slightly towards Sanderson, so that if the other began to speak again, he would be able to catch the movement and read the signs. “Then you had better do it, if that is the way he feels.”

'I worry,' Sanderson signed.

'Did I tell you just who is that boy's father? The Tsar Lunanoff. Woe be the day he returns to Earth and finds that his lover and his child are both dead. I try to keep Jack alive, for that reason...no-one should have to bury their child...'

“Tsar Lunar?” Pitchiner asked, in obvious disbelief “The Tsar Lunar?”

'The Tsar Lunar.'

Sanderson tried to make his gestures emphasize the article.

The Tsar Lunar--he even had his own symbol in sign language. 

At that, Pitchiner's lips curled a little in disgust. “You mean to tell me...that King Eric has been abusing Royalty?!” He did not doubt the Tsar's affection for his family, and he was suddenly much more grateful for the fact he had not done the same...that said, he wouldn't have done it a few days ago either, if only because the boy had disgusted him with his treason. He likely would have killed the boy.

Sanderson nodded slowly and gravely, his eyes cast down at his piece of bread- which he broke again, handing it to Kozmotis. It was Pitchiner's favourite kind.

'We are no longer facing only a King possessed by evil, or a kingdom divided, or the shed of needless blood.'

'We are facing imminent and inevitable warfare between Earth and the Stellar nations. I watch the moon...when it shifts, we will need to prepare ourselves. Mani will come for his son, and he will want retribution.' 

Pitchiner took the proffered piece of bread, although he could not bring himself to eat it. “My friend, I cannot do it.” He admitted, his voice shaky. “I cannot go to war again.” He brought up his hand to pinch the bridge of his nose for a moment before he continued “I fear I am not strong enough.”

Seeing that distraught look on his friend's face so regularly these past few days cut Sanderson very deeply. He brought up a hand, softly tucking an errant lock of hair behind Pitchiner's ear and then cupping the back of his head, a gesture that in their culture was synonymous with 'I am supporting you.'

'That is why we must keep that boy alive. We must keep his mind alive. He is the only one I know of who can stop the rage of his father and his father's armies.'

Reaching out, Pitchiner squeezed Sanderson's shoulder before cupping the back of his head in his other hand. “I know.” He said “But how can we keep him alive when he is afraid to even step out onto a balcony?” He asked. “Yes...in retrospect I shouldn't have made the offer to him...given that the King's fearlings could have been anywhere...but he did not take it.” Thankfully. Hopefully, Jackson would be safe from punishment. “...I sent him to sleep with a description of the wind, my friend.”

'You are still as kind as ever, brother. How strong you must be that almost two decades of war could not take that away from you...'

'He is terrified of the King. Have you felt the enchantment coming from that collar? It affects even me if I get too close. Perhaps...you can request him more from the King. Give his mind a reprieve. We need him.'

“The King was drunk.” He told Sanderson pointedly. “He is possessive and ill-tempered” He snapped, thinking Sanderson foolish. The man had been around the castle longer than him, he knew the King better. “He was playing with me,” He snapped, obviously irate at the seemingly meaningless jab the King had taken at him. “I just don't know what his game is.”

\- - - - - -

The morning was beautiful. The sun shone through the tall windows of Pitchiner's room and painted bright strips of light across the floor, across his bed, across his face, warming everything that it touched. There was the faint sound of a faraway commotion, but it was distant and that was regular in the palace. An honoured guest here, a spontaneous ball there.

The doors to Pitchiner's room flew open and a certain blond alchemist strode in. He walked with purpose over to the General's bed and patted his face to wake him up, his golden eyes wide.

It had been a few months since Pitchiner had moved into the castle and he could want for nothing...except maybe complete piece of mind. That said, he had calmed significantly and could successfully hide his emotions from even Sanderson at times. Kozmotis wasn't exactly shutting down, or shutting anyone out, he was just...focusing. The King could not know of his wavering loyalty. He could not know of his inner turmoil that was not so much turmoil now that it had solidified over time. He could only ever watch as Jack was abused and could only ever soothe him when he 'requested' Jackson's company. A wish that was rarely granted.

The General seemed to spend most of his free time practising in the Barracks training yard with the household and city guard and often played just a little too rough, but people had grown accustomed to it and even went with it. They took their training more seriously now that the General was pushing them and their capabilities to the max.

This morning however, Kozmotis was not expecting to be awoken, and he turned onto his back, revealing the scarred tissue upon his torso as he pushed the blanked lazily down from around his shoulders and blinked blearily up at the blond. “...Sanderson?”

Sanderson signed so rapidly that it was not, at first, decipherable. When Kozmotis only looked confused, he shook his head and tried to slow down.

'The Lunanoff Ambassador.'

'Nightlight.'

'Here.'

'Now.'

All Pitchiner could do was stare for a moment, before he exclaimed, quite suddenly. “Shit!” And launched himself out of bed, rushing over to a nearby wardrobe, retrieving his armour, set upon a small manikin, with his bracers and swords set upon the doors of the wardrobe. “Help me into my armour, Sanderson!” He said, opening another wardrobe and pulling on a fresh under-shirt and pulling off his nightwear in order to slip into some figure hugging (but breathable fabric) trousers – all black.

The alchemist worked quickly, affixing and snapping and buckling various pieces and layers of intricate, scratched, well-worn armour to Pitchiner's practised limbs. It fit like a glove. He was the definition of magnificent in it.

The Lunanoff Ambassador was standing in one of the great halls, walking slowly and idly as he apparently waited for something--looking up at the gigantic paintings on the walls. He wore silver armour, from head to toe, and a long, white, flowing cloak fastened at his neck by a brooch identical in every way to the pendant Seraphina now wore around her neck. It made sense, now, why that pendant glowed on its own. Nightlight himself appeared to be lit not from within but from a light source constantly sitting just above his skin; he looked angelic, his motions smooth and calculated, like Jack's. Ocean waves. 

With a quick kiss to the forehead, Pitchiner was out of his room in a second, forgoing his helmet and combing his fingers through his hair one last time. He made it to the room where the Ambassador was ambling around in under ten minutes – an impressive feat given how large the castle was. “Ambassador,” Pitchiner greeted as calmly as possible as he opened to door to the room and stepped inside before he bowed his head.

He was a little shocked when he took a closer look at the other male just how...ethereal the man looked, even in armour. He was, most certainly, a child of the moon...and, speaking of children...the ambassador looked to be very young for one in his position. “I am...General Kozmotis Pitchiner. I apologise for keeping you waiting.” He couldn't help but notice the clasp upon the other's cape (Pitchiner's own was black and lined with a deep red), and it instantly reminded him of the necklace that Jack had made a gift of to his daughter.

Nightlight turned slowly, his long cape fanning out slightly behind him as he did so; everything he did looked as if it had been performed in slow motion. He regarded Pitchiner with brief eye contact, and then took a very specific, very graceful bow. The bow of the Lunar empire.

"Your reputation precedes you, General Pitchiner. I am honoured."

The movement caught Pitchiner off-guard and he had to repress the urge to even breathe for a moment. His movements were so deliberate that they reminded him of Jackson, who seemed to move with uncommon grace even when he was not trying to be sultry and seductive. All he could do was let out an hum for a moment, before nodding his head “It is a great honour to have you here, Ambassador Nightlight.” He said, finally approaching the man “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

The Ambassador quite gracefully removed himself from his bow and, seeing that Kozmotis had on no helmet, reached up to remove his own head armour. His hair was a stark white,sharply cut and quite long on one side; it swept across his pale face and his icy eyes which seemed almost to faintly glow.

"Everyone has been so formal...I only stopped by to bring gifts from the Tsar Lunar. I am en route to the Northern territories--I'm to collect the young prince and bring him to the Moon Clipper. We have heard tales of unrest..."

He had the same sultry tone as Jack; a very similar accent when he spoke, and when he removed his gloves...the same white, delicate hands.

Pitchiner's face was stone, although his insides felt like they were about to burst. “I can quite honestly say that the North has been quiet for several years, Ambassador.” Then he paused. “Forgive the formality, but it is unusual for us to receive guest from the Moon Clipper.” He told the smaller man, whose appearance did nothing to calm his nerves. If Jack looked anything like this...

He dare not think of it.

The veil had to be hiding something spectacular to say the least.

No assurances of peace in the North would deter Nightlight from going there and completing the mission he had been given, so he changed the subject.

"The Tsar's gift for you, Kozmotis Pitchiner, is outside. Shall we go and see it?" 

“I beg your pardon?” Kozmotis asked, bluntly.

"Your gift," Nightlight repeated patiently, "Is outside." 

Nodding, Kozmotis turned “Of course,” He said, turning and leading Nightlight out into the corridor. Where was everyone? Why had the Ambassador not been received by the King? Where was the Prince and where was Sanderson when he needed him.

Soon enough however, the pair found themselves in the Courtyard at the front of the castle.

"I apologize for the informality and spontaneity of my visit," Nightlight said, as they strolled through the gardens of the courtyard. "I am merely passing through and I was hoping you would allow me to rest here for a day or two."

"In exchange for your hospitality if you agree to give me quarters for the night- I give you this," he said, gesturing at...nothing. Just a little bit of a breeze ruffling the flowers.   
Nothing, that is, until the most massive beast of a horse that Kozmotis had ever seen literally flew down from the sky--shimmering, white, armoured, decorated with the Lunar crest--and landed just behind the boy, who looked dwarfed in comparison. "A Windmare from the Lunar constellation."

Kozmotis was confused a first, but seeing the sudden movement, his first instinct was to grab at his sword, but then...he realised the creature meant no harm, and he forced himself to relax. “It is certainly beautiful.” Pitchiner said clearing his throat silently “But unnecessary.” He said “You see, I already have a horse-”

Nightlight raised a perfect, dark brow.  
"Your horse can ride the wind?" 

“No,” Pitchiner started, surreptitiously glancing around for his friend for a moment “No, it's quite firmly grounded.” 

Nightlight rather pointedly watched Kozmotis, his expression still but slightly suspicious.

"I suppose I should be polite and speak with the King, shouldn't I?"

Pitchiner nodded “Yes, yes of course.” Pitchiner said taking a few steps back, his eyes fixed on the horse before him a moment longer. “I do apologise, I am not in the habit of accepting gifts.” Because frankly, in his time, he'd had a grand total of seventeen. One every year to the age of sixteen and the locket he obtained from his daughter several years prior.

“Do follow me, Ambassador.” He said with a polite smile, “I will show you to your rooms and arrange a meeting with the King for you later this evening.” He said as he turned and led Nightlight back inside.

Nightlight turned as he walked beside Kozmotis, giving the horse a subtle little nod; to which the animal bobbed its head in acknowledgement and then jumped up onto the wind, its giant white wings unfolding on the breeze. It would return to Kozmotis, and Kozmotis only.

Sandy didn't show up until Nightlight was settled into one of the large guest rooms and Kozmotis was resting (read: silently freaking out) in the corridor.  
'...well?? how did it go??' 

For fear he would shout, Pitchiner stood and turned on his friend, signing furiously in that ancient language Sanderson had become accustomed to 'Where were you?' He signed aggressively “Where is the King? The Prince?” Then he paused, physically making an attempt to slow down 'The ambassador,' He signed with deliberate slowness 'Tried to give me a Windmare.' And then his signing became frantic 'and he's going north no matter what we do and when he gets there he's going to find out that there is no prince left to take back to the Moon Clipper!'

Sandy looked so bombarded with information that he leaned his head back and shook it, stared at the tall ceiling for just a moment in order to process everything.  
'I cannot locate the King. Or the Prince. A Windmare?! Tried? Brother, did you refuse a gift from the Tsar Lunar?' 

'Of course I did!' Pitchiner signed 'What? Your people have been slaughtered? Yeah, that was us. Thanks for the gift! The horse was good, too! Couldn't look it in the mouth, could we?'

'....Actually it was the Ice Fae that we slaughtered, not the Moon dwellers...and you forgot the part about using their halfling Prince as a concubine.' 

'Semantics.' Pitchiner signed in an almost off-handed gesture. 'we're screwed.'

'We need to find the boy.'

'We need to find the King.'

'You realize we cannot let Nightlight see the boy at the feet of the King.'  

'I may be many things, but a fool is not one of them.' Pitchiner said by way of agreement. 'Nightlight wishes to have an audience with the King while he is here.'

'I will check his west wing chambers and the gardens- brother, you check the east wing.'  

At that, Kozmotis nodded and without another word began his search, moving quickly and with a purpose he had not had since he had first arrived home just over two months prior. He walked Corridor after corridor, poking his head into rooms and sometimes barking an order or two at servants – if only to keep them busy whilst he searched for the King.

It wasn't long until he came upon a door, large and orate, but closed...but he could quite clearly here movement on the inside. He forced himself to stop and listen. There were moans on the other side of the door and the distinct sound of bedsprings and dear Lord Kozmotis did not want to walk into that room. Under normal circumstances, he would not have...but his situation was not normal...and therefore, he had to take a different approach.

Steeling himself, the General knocked upon the door.

The moans were not coming from the Lunanoff prince. More often than not, Jack's injuries would result from the fact that he still refused to give the King the satisfaction of a sound; it was the one thing he could control. And where the King could not make him cry in pleasure, he could pull it out of him through pain. 

He knew better than to stop moving. Staring down at the King with hatred, he continued to impale himself upon the man- he had no other choice. 

With an irate huff, the King snapped “Enter!” He hand gripping Jack's thighs tightly as the other moved.

Deciding to get it over with, Pitchiner pushed the door open and stepped inside, allowing it to slide shut behind him as he moved into the centre of the room. He knew exactly what was happening, and was thankful that his view of the Lunanoff Prince was obscured by several layers of sheer curtains hanging from the bedposts around the bed. He could, however, see the King, from the waist up. 

The man was in his early fifties, and while he was not fat, he certainly had a lot of meat and muscle on him. The King's hair was brown and so were his eyes, face hidden behind a neatly trimmed beard. Jackson looked tiny by comparison. “My King-” He started dully, before he was interrupted.

“Ah, Pitchiner..!” He King huffed out, grinning.

And Jack, though typically able to disassociate from the people who saw him doing these things...could not stop himself from faltering when he heard Pitchiner's name. Kozmotis was the one person he didn't want to have seen him this way. His muscles locked up in the midst of his anxiety and he found that he could no longer move... 

The Monach was about to continue when he felt his little toy stop, and he scowled, reaching up and delivering a swift backhand upon Jack's cheek “Who said you could stop?!” He shouted and Pitchiner resisted the urge to step forward and do something. 

Jack barely made a sound in response. 

And then he climbed off. No. The king could kill him, if he wanted; Jack would not be humiliated in front of the one person besides Sanderson who actually thought of him as a sentient life-form rather than a sex toy.

“Oh no.” The King growled, reaching forwards and grabbing the Prince by his hair and pulling him down onto the mattress, both the pillows and the King's body obscuring Jack's face from view. In two months, Pitchiner had never even seen so much of a glimpse of it – never wanted to see it. He supposed the degree of anonymity made the whole situation easier to deal with. The General watched at the King held Jack down, a hand pressed down on the back of the boy's neck whilst he nudged the boy's pale thighs apart. “No you don't.” He growled out, quick to impale Jack with his wide girth.

Pitchiner could only stand, forcing himself to remain passive and obedient in the face of the King, although his grip did travel to the hilt of his sword. “You're just-” The King continued, thrusting violently into the boy below him “the man!” He made a point to dig his nails into Jack's pale skin “I wanted to...see..!”

There was a slightly pause “Yes, Sire?”

One of Jack's hands--so small beneath the large man--gripped at the sheets, accompanied by an actual scream as fingernails peeled strips of flesh down his back. The other, it clawed wildly at the magic-suppressing collar.

'He will find you!!' He screamed, his voice raw and obviously choked on tears. "He will find you and he will rip you apart until there is nothing left you vile creature!"  
The pendant on Seraphina's neck began to glow very brightly and a beautiful voice spoke to her; by its very nature it was soothing, like a softly flowing river. '...if you can hear me, Jokul, tell me where you are.'  
Raising a fist, the King delivered a few good punches to Jack's face and hardly even paused in his ministrations, fucking Jack hard and deep and Kozmotis forced himself to watch. The King would see the weakness in him if he looked away and make him watch regardless. “I've always thought about finding a beautiful wife, Pitchiner..!” The King said, even as he focused on Jack, holding him down more firmly “But I never thought one would come to me..!”

With each passing moment, Pitchiner was growing pale, and the grip on his sword tighter, his knuckles white “My King..?” He forced out.

“I've always thought this little creature was beautiful!” He said, shifting for a moment to bring Jack's wrists up over his head so he could hold them securely with one hand whilst he flipped Jack onto his front and forced his pale legs over his broad shoulder. He plunged mercilessly into Jackson then, and continued to speak “Always told him that if he were a woman I'd having whelping every year for the rest of his life..!” He laughed then, hoarse and cruel and Kozmotis winced “Tell him what you say to me Jack..!” He commanded, thrusting harshly into the Prince. “Tell him how badly you want me to squirt my little bastards into your belly!”

Seraphina had been in her own personal library, leafing through a history book when she noticed the glow through the fabric of her dress and she gasped, pulling it out and into view. She stood abruptly. And then, looked at the book in her hands. Hearing the voice startled her – there was nowhere that voice could have come from! The door to the room was closed and she had sent away her servants..!

Jack, he actually smiled at him. It was a smile that had more of a place on a devil, not on the beautiful face of a prince. If Kozmotis could see Jack's face, he'd see the fangs, he'd see the striking resemblance to Nightlight, he'd see beauty that he'd never laid eyes on before.

Jack responded in Elvish.

'My...name...is Jokul,'

'..and all I...all I want... want with your body is to tear it into COUNTLESS TINY PIECES AND COVER THIS WRETCHED DEVIL'S DEN WITH THE STENCH OF YOUR INSIDES.'

Pitchiner's eyes widened a little at the response. It was good to know that the boy – Prince Jokul – could be articulate even in the most stressful of situations. A very good quality in a Prince...

The King ignored the shouting – obviously not understanding...although...if Black had been awake, he was almost certain the Old King would have understood...probably did. But apparently, Tyberius had very little to do with Eric....

“On the subject of Bastards,” The King started up again, and Pitchiner felt like he knew the direction in which this conversation was going. “I think I'll marry your daughter..!” He said, thrusting into Jackson, fast, and furious. He did not like the fact that Jack was fighting him. Jack hadn't truly fought him for a very long time.

“S-she's twelve..!” Pitchiner protested immediately.

“So, I'm not going to bed her until she bleeds!”

“My King, you-”

“I won't hear another word on the subject!” The King roared “I legitimised the girl and I can just as easily undo my decree so shut up and take it or I'll just fuck your girl as soon as she's able to take a man..!”

Jokul shook his head. "You will not harm....her...Lucky. She has my Nightlight." And with that, he stopped fighting. He stopped all movement, actually, and every cell relaxed. "Wind...I feel it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise if this seemed messy, but this work will probably continue to be so for a while. But thank you all for sticking around!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Other World and a history lesson.

“Sanderson...!” Seraphina yelled as she ran out of her library and down the hallway, looking for someone – anyone – to help with this mysterious necklace.

Upon hearing that word, that one, single word, Pitchiner came back to himself, and he forced himself to put the matter with his daughter to the back of his mind. The King wouldn't live long enough to marry his daughter if he had his way about it. “My King.”

“What..!” The King said as he moaned loudly, cumming at last, deep inside Jackson.

“...Ambassador Nightlight is here from the Moon Clipper.” He stated calmly, distantly. He could only hope that Jack was listening to this. “He wishes to have an audience with you this evening.”

But Jack was not conscious. At all. His eyes were open beneath the veil. Nothing even so much as twitched. Seraphina ,on the other hand,would be intersected by a boy- short and thin and he looked like Jack. His head tilted. "Hello little one." 

The little girl let out a startled cry and stumbled back, tripping over her own feet and crumbling to the floor, leaving the necklace clear on display.

“What.” The King bit out, pulling out of Jack and standing standing quickly, displaying a distinct lack of concern for Jokul and he hurried to his wardrobe and pulled on the first clothes he could find. “You waited until NOW to tell me this?!”

"No, no, little one." Nightlight crouched down to her level, his hands held up, palms exposed in an offer of peace. "No need to be afraid." 

“W-who are you?” Seraphina asked, having never seen this person before – she would have remembered someone so distinctive.

The King stormed out of his room, but not before snapping at Pitchiner “hide that foolish boy..!” And who was Pitchiner to argue? He moved towards the bed, making sure to wrap Jackson in a thin blanket before he picked the lad up into his arms, gently this time. He wouldn't hide him...but Jack did need medical treatment. 

Leaving the room, Pitchiner, after shifting Jack awkwardly in his arms to do so, waved his hand and summoned some pale white sand, forming it into the shape of a few Windmares and giving them a mental command, he sent them off in search of Sanderson.

Unable to locate Kozmotis, Sanderson had done precisely the same thing- sent out the dreamsand to search for him. Instead of horses, they were dolphins, and they met the Windmares in a corridor not very far away at all. Sanderson looked horrified when he saw Kozmotis carrying the limp, dead weight of Jack, his pale eyes going wide, pupils shot. 'We must get him to my chambers immediately...' 

Nightlight smiled, his eyes kind and trustworthy if not a little bit tricky and mischievous. "My name is Nightlight. I am a Guardian. That is a beautiful necklace....where did you get it? Would you walk with me?" 

Kozmotis did not even need to be told twice, and immediately moved in the direction of Sanderson's rooms, the other man marching at his side.

“I-It's was a gift...” Seraphina told the other man, bringing herself to her feet and brushing herself off. “Am...am I in trouble? I didn't steal it.” She told the taller man pointedly. “My Daddy knows it was a gift, he was there when I got it..! My Father is the General. He wouldn't lie.”

"You are most certainly not in trouble, my friend!" Nightlight exclaimed, smiling brightly. "But I am looking for the original owner of that necklace. You can keep it, if you like, if you help me find him. Do you know what is inside it? There is a moonbeam..." 

Sanderson lay the boy out onto a sofa and the alchemical gears turned behind them, sealing the doors. He placed a hand on Jack's stomach, and then placed two fingers on his wrist. He blanched. 'There is no pulse...'

“What are you talking about.” Pitchiner said in disbelief, marching right up to Jack's bedside and checking for a pulse himself. “Yes there is, there has to be..!”

“...I'm not supposed to talk to the boy who gave me this...” Seraphina said with a frown “We talk sometimes though...he said...his name is Jack.”

Back in the medical bay, Pitchiner stood back and moved over to each and every window, throwing them open. “Did you ever have any luck finding that disenchantment spell?”

'I think I found one that MAY work, if you and I both channel every bit of power that we have. Or we need a moonbeam.' 

Kneeling beside the bed, Pitchiner frowned, his fingers finding their way to the collar, pushing the veil aside enough to touch it and not reveal Jack's face, although he could see the bleeding beneath it. “Well.” He said simply. “It's going to have to be option one.”

'And you think breaking the enchantment will bring him back?' 

“In this case...I am willing to adopt the Pookan philosophy of Hope.”

'It is not...a spell, per se, brother. It is alchemy. Changing one metal into another...' He lay his fingers on the awful collar, pulling them away only briefly to sign: 'think /mercury./ With all your heart. If you don't really want it, it will not work.' 

“And you're thinking that the change of metal will knock the balance of the spell off and nullify it?” Pitchiner asked, carefully, brows furrowing slightly.

'that is what I hope for.' 

Pitchiner nodded at that. He had never been particularly talented at Alchemy, but he grasped the basic concept and, he would only be adding his magic to Sanderson's own. Closing his eyes, the General placed the fingers of his other hand on the metal and focused, channelling everything he had into the metal, thinking; mercury, mercury, mercury.

Kozmotis could feel, after a few moments that felt like forever, the very make-up of the collar. Silver. Pure, its atoms right there in his hands. Sanderson had his eyes squeezed shut, not even opening them when he felt the metal soften. The enchantment was strong, horribly so, burning Sandy's fingers as it was at first released and then trapped within the mercury that began to form and run down Jokul's neck. 

When they time came at last to pull away, Pitchiner was panting. He was unused to alchemy and it took more out of him than it did Sanderson, although the other man seemed well-worked, too. He gulped and panted softly, steadying himself on the bed wit his arm, watching Jackson's face. “....Anything?” He asked, reaching for Jack's pulse despite himself.

Sanderson shook his head, swiping across his forehead with the back of his hand, sweating profusely. '...I cannot sense Death as well as you can. Is he there? Call him back...' 

'Speak to him.'

Forcing himself to his feet, Pitchiner did not argue with Sanderson. He supposed he had always been more attached to Death, whereas Sanderson preferred to focus on life. Sitting upon the side of the bed, Pitchiner reached under the veil, his tanned fingers running over a fine jawline. He still kept the veil over Jackson's face. After what he had watched the other go through...he didn't feel like he had the right to even want to look Jokul in the face. “Jokul...” Kozmotis said quietly, leaning in to whisper in Jack's ear.

There was death...but there was something else. Something brighter...the last drop of life in Jack's blood. “Jokul...you must wake up...the wind is calling you, and you must answer.” He told Jackson softly, but somehow authoritatively. “Do you remember what we talked about? The wind's caress? You need to feel it like it feels you.” He said honestly. “The first snow will be here soon...”

Death sucked him in. It grabbed him by the collar and pulled him into the Other Realm, where a smaller figure in white- glowing white- walked beside him and gently held Death's hand. Death turned, his face not there, a shadow; but the figure, the Jokul without his veil, his back turned to Kozmotis, with his stark white hair free from adornments...he did not turn. 'Will you deny this soul the peace he has begged for?' Death asked. 

Kozmotis had fallen silent within Sanderson's room, but in his unconscious, he faced Death and looked him dead in the face, and began to take steps towards the ominous, cold figure. “He has a decorating job to finish.” He told the spirit. “If he has not earned more time in life, than give him some of mine.” He asked of Death. Lord only knew how badly Death had wanted him since the first.

Pitchiner had always been pulled away just before Death could take him in hand.

A bony, skeleton of a hand reached up and pulled back the torn black hood of Death's cape. The face revealed, there, was not grotesque and horrific, but that of a woman with long, black hair and striking red eyes. "...your life, Kozmotis Pitchiner?' She asked, 'I am afraid I would rather not have it handed to me, thank you. We will continue our fight for it, fairly." She tipped her head in an acknowledgement of respect and then gently pulled her hand away from the frost boy. "Go...complete your unfinished business, Jokul, son of the Tsar Lunanoff." 

The boy looked up at Death and let his gaze remain there, for a time; then he slowly turned around and began to walk towards Kozmotis.

“Death is never fair, sweet Lady.” Pitchiner said by way of parting, reaching out for Jackson's hand. His gaze met the other's boy's but when he came back to himself in consciousness, he forgot the look of the boy completely.

He was silent for a time, and when at last he attempted to stand, the world tilted on it's axis and Pitchiner fell, his armoured body hitting the floor with a heavy thump.

When Jokul's soul fell back into its fleshly encasing, he gasped; he took in a raw, huge breath of air and then another, as if his body could not get enough air. When neurons began once again to fire, they lit the pain he'd once learned to disassociate from- and he screamed. He sat up, and he screamed, and it was a sound that Sanderson would never, ever forget. He quickly dropped to his friend, though he kept his eyes on Jack-- holding Kozmotis by his face. 

"What kind of a silly name is 'Jack?'" Nightlight asked, his head tilting to the side again so that the long lock of hair on one side touched his shoulder. "...this Jack, you must take me to him. Why were you not allowed to speak with him?"

The little girl walked beside the Ambassador easily, looking nervous despite his obviously friendly demeanour. “I don't know where he is...but Uncle Sandy will probably know.” She said, looking up at the man as she turned a corner “I'm not allowed to to speak to him because...well. I don't know what it means, but they call him a 'concubine'.”

"...Oh. I see." Nightlight's armour clinked as he walked beside her, his boots leaving an authoritative click-click-click on the marble floor of the palace. "Do you know where a concubine got that necklace? That is...a very special necklace." 

Seraphina shrugged. “The King likes to give him lots of jewellery.” She explained. “He could have got it anywhere...although...”

"...although what..."

It was rather refreshing to speak Elvish so freely, especially since the only other person who spoke it was the concubine and he was hardly around, and her Father was busy through most of the day she she did not get to spend a lot of time with him. “He said...that the necklace was meant to protect him or something...and he hoped I would have better luck with it.” She told the man before her, frowning “...He likes to call me Lucky...”

The Ambassador stopped in his tracks and his boots gave a final, metallic clink as he did so. He stared straight ahead of himself, his pale eyes fixed upon nothing. "...Take me to him..." 

Puzzled, Seraphina could only nod. She had assumed the man wanted to find the concubine anyway, so she had already begun to lead the Foreign visitor to Sanderson's room. “Okay,” She said, picking up her skirts and moving faster down the hall. She did not like the expression on his face. It was a strange kind of...serious. His mind was elsewhere, but his purpose was powerful enough that his feet carried him after her as she began to lead him up a flight of stairs and down another hallway.

As they neared the room, noise became louder and louder – unusual given that very few people actually came up to Sanderson's room. He always went to them. A few more minutes of walking and the noise became distinguishable screams, full of terror and pain and instead of running away from the sound, Seraphina panicked, thinking someone in danger and ran towards the noise as quickly as her feet could carry her.

The noise was loudest outside Sanderson's main chamber. She tried to push the door open, but it would not budge, so she knocked, frantically. “UNCLE SANDERSON?! Uncle Sanderson are you okay?!”

"Move, child!" Nightlight commanded, drawing the diamond-tipped spear that had remained strapped to his back this whole time. He shoved it into the door and there was a blast of light so bright that it hurt--but Sanderson's alchemy was strong, and did not give in on the first strike.

The sounds of banging and fucking explosions did not do anything to quell Jack's mood, and he looked around the room frantically. "Is it him?? He knows we are in here--he will--" He reached out for Sanderson, and as he did so, ice formed on his hand. 

Seraphina couldn't help the scream that left her then as she (for lack of a better word) cowered away from the door and shielded her eyes from the light.

Inside the room, the noise was enough to make Pitchiner blink slowly back into consciousness and he rolled onto his front slowly, forcing himself up onto his elbows. “Wh...”

Jokul looked, in full disbelief, between Sanderson and the recently conscious Kozmotis. His hands, still blood covered, reached up to his neck--where there was skin, skin that felt odd from so long hidden from anything, no collar, no enchantment. There was blood sticking the veil to his face, there was blood inside his mouth, there was blood between his legs, and as he sat there with that sheet pulled up around him he felt long-lost magic, a piece of his soul, swirl through him. ".......you did it....you did it....Kozmotis...." 

“Yes,” Pitchiner said, forcing himself to his feet. He was a soldier. He would live on his feet and he would die on his feet. He did not look at Jokul however, as his attention was drawn to the doorway of the room, where someone was still attempting to break in. “But not alone, Young Prince.” He told the lad.

Jack mouthed the word 'prince' in confusion but didn't have the time to spend contemplating it, as at that moment, the door split into countless slivers and in its wake was not the king but a cowering Seraphina and a very unpleasant-looking Nightlight. Sanderson had forged his whips from dreamsand and was so at the ready to take on the King that he nearly lashed it out at the Ambassador but stopped himself at the last minute. 

Nightlight looked around, his eyes quickly scanning the room; they settled on Jokul, they settled on the blood, and for a moment…turned redder.

As soon as the door blew open, Pitchiner drew his sword and summoned white sand that seemed to float aimlessly around him. His whole body was tense, still far too used to warfare, too ready to fight and defend. He looked at the two in the doorway and said “Seraphina...come here.” He ordered softly, though he did not break his gaze from Nightlight, nor loosen his grip on his sword.

The little girl ran forwards, past the Ambassador and up to her father, hiding behind him, clinging to his cape.

Nightlight ignored everyone else and walked straight over to the bloody figure on Sanderson's lounge sofa, and he knelt. He knelt and bowed his head, and silver, glowing tears began to fall from his pale eyes. 

"I've failed you." 

Kozmotis couldn't help but stare at Nightlight for a time, before he too shifted in place and knelt, the point of his sword downward as he bowed his head to Jokul. He was a Knight and Knights lived to serve, and with his loyalty to King Eric shattered, he would follow the one he deemed worthy enough to protect. Jokul was apparently beautiful, but that is not why Kozmotis knelt to him now. The General felt the strength within him – the emotional integrity. Yes, there was instability, but there was power and there was love. Pitchiner had gotten quite a good look into Jackson's personality during his time in the Otherworld.

Jack's face behind the veil and the blood was utterly conflicted. There was confusion; years of complete and utter servitude to the King had wiped him of much of his identity, but there was...the core of it, still there. He crawled down from the sofa and sat on the floor with them, first bringing his hands to Nightlight's face- lingering there, and then moving them to Pitchiner's. At one point, he held the both of them with a single hand on each man's face. "You saved me..." 

Jokul bent himself (albeit painfully) lower than them, and spoke in his Elvish tongue. "I am the one indebted to you." 

Shaking his head, Pitchiner reached out, gently taking Jokul's arms into his hands and pulling him upright “No,” He started “no, young Prince...I deserve no gratitude and there is no debt to be paid...” He had watched the King abuse the poor boy and done nothing about it, did not think he could. If he attacked he could have endangered both Jokul and himself. He was not in a position to fight Tyberius (who may have appeared at any moment) alone.

“I will not ask for forgiveness.”

Behind the three men, Seraphina stood beside Sanderson, whispering to him “I am confused, Uncle...” Very confused “...Jackson is...a Prince?”

Sanderson could only nod to her and hold her hand and motion with the other, blood-covered one, to the trio across the room and more specifically the General. 

It confused Jack, too, who had the identity of concubine, worthless little thing only alive because he was so beautiful literally beaten into his head for so many years that it had congealed and become part of who he believed he was. Jokul was a distant thing and a person of his own and he surfaced from the core of Jack where he always was when Jack was pushed far enough against the walls of his disassociation. 

He faltered, even with his arms braced by the General's hands. Being given back his magic gave him life but it didn't heal him automatically. His wounds would close faster than humans' would--but injuries were still injuries. 

He leaned in close to speak against Pitchiner's ear as he had done on the few occasions that they had been able to sit and talk (usually Kozmotis sharing war stories illustrated by dreamland) and Jack always feared the ears of the shadows, so he spoke as intimately as he could. "You do not need to ask my forgiveness. You offered me years from your life…me, worthless me."

Nightlight's head had snapped over to Kozmotis as soon as he'd made a grab (however reverent and gentle) for the young Prince, and he swallowed down his urge to slap him off. He watched, like he was ready to pounce and destroy at the first reason Kozmotis gave him to do so. 

Seraphina nodded slightly. She had the same amount of trust in Sanderson that her father did...because Kozmotis did not trust easily.

The General on the other hand, wanted to pull back, and he did, a little, but stilled enough that Jokul could speak to him. He ignored Nightlight's movements, which he saw from the corner on his eye. He would not attack unless the Ambassador made the first move. “You are not worthless.” Kozmotis whispered back, through the veil. “None of this would have happened to you if you were...” He said, slowly, wishing he had the ability to pull away, but he had Jokul's attention and it would be cruel to distance himself from the boy in this moment. “It rather makes me wish you were...”

"General," he whispered, because it's 'General' or 'Sir' to you' -- 

"You never look at me." His legs shook beneath him; his body threatened to sink to the floor if Kozmotis let him go. The King had caused internal damage in more than one place, and that had been fatal. Death had reversed it only enough to remove the threat of the loss of life. 

"Am I so dirty and disgusting?" He said it like he believed it.

“No.” The General said quickly, but quietly, and settled Jokul back down on the bed carefully, knelt at his bedside and continued to whisper in his veiled ear “I am...afraid of how beautiful I might find you.”

Nightlight's muscles itched for the inevitable battle to come. He wanted his vengeance, his retribution; he wanted to...smash things. But he let Jokul have his moment, because Jokul obviously found this Kosmotis to be a friend of sorts. 

Jack placed a hand on Pitchiner's cheek and pressed it close to his own head, his hand almost painfully cold this time. "I wouldn't know. I've never seen myself. There are no mirrors allowed in this palace…"

The General had to resist the urge to pull away at the ice-y touch, feeling almost as if he might lose an ear...but this was the power the collar had been suppressing. It wasn't suffocating Jokul any longer. “No mirror...?” Pitchiner asked, taking Jack's wrist gently in hand as he pulled away, the volume of his voice back to normal. “That cannot be so. I have one in my room.”

"The King doesn't like seeing himself in mirrors. He must not know you have one."

“Yes...” Pitchiner started with a frown as he stood up straight. “I had heard that King Tyberius had always been a very vein man.”

They both--Nightlight and Jokul--tilted their heads at precisely the same time, in exactly the same way. "...Tyberius?" Nightlight asked, his voice quietly incensed. 

At that, Pitchiner frowned. He hadn't expected to give a history lesson that day. “About 300 years ago,” Pitchiner started, narrowing his eyes some at the younger man – Nightlight. He didn't like the other's tone. “the Kingdom was ruled by a man named Tyberius Black. He was a powerful man, gifted in sorcery and physical combat. He was also dangerously intelligent” He explained with a look of displeasure about him “But, as the story goes, he grew older and more frail with each passing year.” It was the most famous piece of the Kingdom's History...mostly because it was still alive today. “So, he buried himself in his studies and eventually he found a way...to immortalise himself.”

Nightlight's eyes also narrowed, but not at Kozmotis- at the story. He had never known an attempt at immortality to go in any direction but the dark. "...And what was this way?" 

“All the relevant documents were burned by Tyberius himself centuries ago.” He explained “So I cannot tell you specifics, but he turned himself into some kind of creature – a parasite, really.” He explained. “He was – is – made of Darkness itself and he has no human form.” He explained, he'd made a point to pay attention to his History as a lad, wanting to know if he could be of use somehow bettering the Kingdom in some small way. “He has become some form of symbiotic entity that requires a Host.” He explained “I have heard it told that he can survive up to ten minutes outside of his host's body...and that he is very careful to choose those Hosts.” He said with a frown.

“He always picks the most powerful men that he can find – politically, physically – anything that is appealing or useful at the time.” He explained. “I thought perhaps he had meant to take Jokul's body form him.” He theorised. “He is of Royal blood, after all. He is also as you know, a relative to the Tsar.” He explained, glancing out of an open window for a moment before he continued. “It is entirely possible he meant to force an alliance.”

The spectral boy's eyes widened and darted between Kozmotis and the form of Jokul, who remained sitting on the sofa and had removed that blasted veil, dipping it in a nearby bowl of water and using it to wipe the blood from his face. It only managed to smear the drying liquid, giving him a savage appearance indeed; dried rivulets of royal life-force still remained at the corners of his mouth, having cut paths down his chin and neck and formed congealing pools where the lip of that tight-fitting collar once sat. 

The Ambassador's eyes did not stray from his charge. "…how long…has Jokul been imprisoned here? And is there a way to defeat this dark force?" 

Kozmotis turned to Jackson, and resisted the urge to gasp when he gaze caught the corner of an unveiled lip. He turned, his back to Jack as he continued. “To my knowledge, the Prince has been here for nine years, Ambassador.” He said, his frown deepening. Sparing Sanderson a glance, he tilted his head slightly, in Jokul's general direction. 'treat him..!' The gesture said. “I do not know if it is possible to kill him.” He explained “But Sanderson told me of a plan to trap him months ago. In a metal cage of sorts.”

Sanderson met Pitchiner's eyes and gave a nod of acknowledgement. So wrapped up had he been in the intensity of the conversation, in the intensity of the situation itself, in his weakness after the use of so much alchemy…he had fallen into a bit of a daze. He released Seraphina's hand and quickly walked around furniture over to a cabinet of jars, reaching for one and returning to the Prince with pills and a glass of water in hand. While Jack took the water and medicine and gladly downed both, Sanderson took over the job of cleaning up the wounds that were still open. 

Nightlight looked crushed and contemplative at the same time, his eyes cast down. "Nine years," he whispered, "…a metal cage…well." 

He straightened, anger forging his anguish into something hard and usable. "I will do whatever I must do to help rid the universe of such an evil presence." 

Sanderson turned and signed: 'We need to act as if nothing is wrong. Our best chance at defeating him is if we catch him off his guard.'

Nodding, Pitchiner half-turned, keeping his gaze firmly off the Prince. “Sanderson is right.” He said. “You shall leave the day after tomorrow as planned.” He told Nightlight “And you should tell the boy's father of his situation.” These were no doubt instructions that Nightlight would not like, but it was for the best. “If he feels the need to strike, let him, but do not send word, even to us.”

He glanced at Sanderson, hoping that his plan was worth considering.

Jokul stood amidst Sanderson's treatment and the way he moved, there was…authority in the motion. Nightlight's eyes flicked to him and saw so much of his father. 

"…if you expect me to return to that vile devil's bed, you will need to find yourselves another plan." 

Pitchiner crossed his arms and for a moment, looked contrite. “What would you have me do, young Prince?”

Jack looked right at him. "...would you do it if I were your daughter?" 

With a clenched jaw, Pitchiner turned away from Jokul. Rather than turning on the Prince, Pitchiner directed his anger towards an innocent chair, smashing it violently against the door with a sweep of his hand and the force of pale sand. “HE WILL NOT TOUCH HER..!”

Seraphina squeaked at that, and blurted out “W-what?”

There was a pause before Pitchiner was calm enough to answer his baby girl. “Interesting fact, my Darling.” He said, his tone less than pleased. “This King wishes to take you for a Bride.”

A pause. “Ew.” She said. “He's really old.” And, apparently evil, which made him even less appealing.

"...see?" Jokul said. "It is easy for you to direct me to do something that upsets you so greatly when it concerns your own. Because I...am a pawn. Because I mean nothing in the grand scheme of your world." 

At that, Pitchiner frowned, and his mood plummeted (not that it wasn't already abysmal). He laughed bitterly. He still would not look at Jokul. “No, Prince Jokul, for as similar as your situations are, they are not the same.” He snapped, bringing his hands together, bowing his head so the tips of his fingers brushed against his lower lip “You have a way out.” He snapped a little, eyes narrowing at the floor as he thought “Both my daughter and I are now tied to this man whatever happens,” He snapped. “And yes, Jokul.” He told the boy pointedly. “A few months ago I would have handed my daughter to that man on a silver platter if he had asked it of me...even if I didn't like it.”

“I am an Army man, Jokul.” He told the boy seriously, his rant coming to a near-close “If anyone knows anything about being a pawn, it is I.” He explained. “I spent fourteen years abroad fighting for a lie, after all.”

Oh, Nightlight, how he wanted to slap Pitchiner's mouth for speaking in such a tone to a Lunar prince. He turned to look back at Seraphina, and then once again at the General. "She is only a child. Is this the way of men?" 

Jokul had been staring at the floor as if there were answers held there inside the polished stone. "…tell me what it is that ties you still to the King," he said, lifting his eyes to Kozmotis. 

What was this, a bloody inquisition?! “Yes,” He told Nightlight “This happens.” He gestured to his daughter “Although usually Kings marry their sons to people who can be used to affect politics in some way.” He snapped. “My daughter carries no titles, has no money and her Father only has sway in matters of conflict.” He explained testily to the men before him. Seraphina did not like her father yelling, but she did not protest. What he was saying was true.

“Also, I was a bastard.” She supplied somewhat needlessly.

“You see.” Pitchiner continued “She is not a useful or desirable prize and the King, as he told me, only wishes to have her for her beauty.” Much like he wanted Jokul for that reason “Never mind her other, positive merits.”

“So long as the King has his sights on Seraphina, she cannot leave.” Pitchiner explained, after a long moment, much more calmly. “I cannot leave my daughter, or the King I have served for so many years and I cannot leave the castle because the King himself as you know Jokul, invited me to live here.” He said, bringing his hands down to his side, one hand curling around the hilt of his sword “To leave would be an insult.” Besides. “I have killed hundreds...maybe thousands, for him.”

Jokul sat back down onto the sofa as if his legs had given out beneath him, his dark-lashed eyes closing as if he had conceded defeat. It was not a look that Nightlight approved of, and his own slender fingers found the hilt of the curved sword at his side. "...please tell me you do not still feel loyalty towards this king," Nightlight said, voice dripping with frustrated disbelief.

"The Tsar will spare no one who stands by that man's side."

“I still wish that you had all left me in my ignorance.” Pitchiner made a point to say, his gaze falling on Nightlight “But I have not been able to abide King Eric's rule since I learnt of the slaughter in the North.” Pitchiner's grip on his weapon may have been lose, be whatever happened he would have been able to deflect Nightlight (he was almost certain) if the other attacked.

"Slaughter to the North?" Nightlight asked, his eyes cast off to the side. Then the Tsar's lover...the Prince's mother... "...then I will do it. I will go in place of the Prince. I will go to the King and Jokul, you will return to the Moon Clipper and gather your army." 

Right, well Nightlight clearly wasn't listening to the plan. “How is he supposed to do that?” Pitchiner asked. “I have no doubt that the King will be wanting Jokul again soon. By which I mean immediately after you leave.”

"Then obviously we need another plan." 

Sighing, Pitchiner turned and stormed out onto the balcony to think. He was not called a strategic genius for nothing, after all. He just didn't want to be in a room full of people he felt like he could kill at any given moment. Or more specifically, he didn't want to be in a room with Nightlight, the emotionally-involved Ambassador and warrior and the emotionally-involved Prince-come-concubine.

In fact. Even Sanderson was emotionally involved and not to mention exceedingly unhelpful at present. The only person who wasn't particularly involved was his daughter, but she had no idea what was going on. Kozmotis wouldn't claim to be completely emotionally-indifferent, but this is why he wanted the anonymity that Jokul's veil provided. If he liked what he saw, who knows what he might have done only a few hours prior to this moment.

Just beyond the balcony, somewhere close within the darkness of the evening, there was the thunderous beating of a great wingspan and then- suddenly, too close, too in Kozmotis' face, the beady eyes of a huge white horse. It reared in mid-air, huffing, stomping on the wind, happy to have found its master finally. 

So focused was he on making his plans that the sudden appearance of white and the loud flapping of wings startled Pitchiner enough that he jumped back resisting the urge to cry out. Instead he chose to blurt out “Gods almighty!” He shouted, his eyes never leaving those beady black ones.

She reared and kicked her legs and huffed some more, presenting him repeatedly with her back, wishing Kozmotis to take his place there. On her broad forehead there was steel armour and the same crest that Seraphina wore around her neck.

Frowning, Pitchiner reached out and took the reigns of the rather...spirited mare, and turned towards the balcony (thankfully a very large one) door. “Nightlight!” He snapped, glaring.

Instead of Nightlight, the Prince appeared. Lucky for Kozmotis, he'd put on the veil again- if only to ease the General's obvious discomfort at any glimpses of his face. He brought his hands up, palms out, as if to steady the horse. "...A horse with wings..." he said, his voice full of shock, and he opened his mouth to say more but at that moment a gust of wind picked up and fingered through his veil- whispered over his broken skin and he stopped all movement. 

Pitchiner paused when he saw the Prince, turning only briefly to the horse and pulling on the reigns more and stepping closer, placing a tanned hand upon its long nose. “Yes...” He said, noticing the boy had frozen at the feel of the wind. It was not surprising...after all...this was his first time outside in...who knows how long. “This came from the Lunar Constellations...the Land of your Father.”

"...my Father?" Jack asked, his eyes finally fluttering open and his veiled head turning over to Kozmotis. Indeed, the horse's hooves and her eyes both held the glittering lights of stars inside of them. "Is he a good man or a bad man?" 

Kozmotis turned to his horse, stroking along it's neck. “I don't know, Young Prince. I have never met him.” He explained, and given where his loyalties had laid until recently, was he truly the best judge of character? “But Ambassador Nightlight seems to love you.” He explained. “He told me that he had intended to go North to collect you and take you to your Father, until he learnt you were here...and here we are now.”

Sanderson came to the door then, almost placing a hand upon Jokul's shoulder but then thinking the better of it. He made it a point never to touch the boy unless he requested it first. 

'Brother…the King will be expecting his audience with the Ambassador shortly.'

“Oh, yes...” Pitchiner said slowly, frowning. He released the horse's reins and took a step back. “See to it Jokul is bathed and refreshed.” By which he meant 'clean and wearing something significantly less blood-stained'. He left it unsaid that the King might want to parade the boy around, although there was slim chance of that happening. “Take my daughter to her rooms and keep her there and Ambassador Nightlight.” He said as he walked into the room and towards the door the other man had so valiantly broken down. “Come with me.”

And with that, he left the room, not even bothering to check is the Ambassador was following him.

Jack turned when Kozmotis left the balcony, clearly not fond of this idea. "...and what happens when the King sees that I no longer have the collar? What happens when he undoes what you went to the Otherworld to do? He will kill me." 

Not having heard Jackson (although the thought that Jokul would be in a lot of trouble if the King saw him without his collar on had, in fact, crossed his mind) He continued down the hallways, Nightlight on his tail. What a fun little charade this was all turning out to be.

Nightlight didn't particularly like being bossed around by Kozmotis, but he didn't resist him either, falling silent after a little 'Tch.' 

His boots clicked against the floor, his weapons clinked against his armour as they walked down the too-elaborate halls of the once great King. 

"I've sent my Moonbeam back to the Clipper to inform the Tsar and send help. It will take a couple of days, given the distance." 

“Spectacular, Ambassador.” Kozmotis responded before he raised an arm, in a motion for silence “Now if you please. The King quite literally has Shadows everywhere.” Idiot, Kozmotis thought sourly.

Nightlight threw his palms up in an expression of irritated confusion. "Shadows?" He asked, but then he rolled his lightly glowing eyes. "Nevermind. Let's just do this." 

“Fearlings.” Kozmotis explained as he continued to walk “Forgive me, I must have neglected to explain.” He said, turning a corner and beginning an ascent down a flight of stairs. “Tyberius has creatures made from the Darkness, Shadow men some call them, at his beck and call.” He explained. “King Eric has little to do with them, but one can never be too careful.”

When they reached the doors to the hall of the throne, Nightlight stopped beside the war hero and looked over, up at him. He did not like Kozmotis Pitchiner, but there was respect for him in his eyes. "...here we go."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry I haven't updated this in so long!
> 
> A friendly reminder however, that this is an unedited RP, hence the reason a lot of th paragraphs seem to be in a strange order and what have you. Odd, but coherent.
> 
> Please enjoy!


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